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PRICE 25 CENTS. 


CALAMITY JANE 


A STORY OF THE BLACK H!I.LS 


BY 

MRS. GEORGE E. SPENCER 

AUTHOR OF “ A PLUCKY ONE.” “SALT LAKE FRUIT,” 
“the .story of MARY.” 


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CALAMITY JANE 





.^A STORY OF THE BLACK HILLS 


BY 


' MRS. GEORGE E. SPENCER 

AUTHOR OF “A PLUCKY ONE,” “SALT LAKE FRUIT, 
“ THE STORY OF MARY.” 




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CONTENTS 


CHAPTER. 


PAGE. 

I. 

His Wooing, 

5 

II. 

“They Start Away," 

19 

III. 

Adventures on the Road, . 

. 33 

IV. 

“ Halt,” . - . 

50 

V. 

“ Ho ! For Deadwood ! ” 

. 57 

VI. 

“ DePew’s Client,” 

65 

VII._ 

“ The Woman’s Picnic,” 

. 74 

VIII. 

“Calamity Jane,” . 

86 

IX. 

At the “ Bullfinch,” 

.91 

X. 

A Treacherous Enemy, . 

98 

XI. 

“ Meg,” .... 

. . 1 10 

XII. 

“Deadwood is Divided,” . 

120 

XIII. 

In Oliver’s Cabin, 

. 129 

XIV. 

A Long Ride, 

139 

XV. 

The “ Bullfinch ” is Measured, 

. 152 

XVI. 

“ Success,” .... 

. 160 

XVII. 

“ It is Better So,” 

. 167 


CALAMITY JANE. 


CHAPTER I. 


HIS WOOING. 



my gifts, my opportunities, as you call them, will 
amount to nothing. The money I make Tve no de- 
sire to keep, since you won’t share it. I throw it 
away — or worse. Now be a sensible girl ! Look 
the matter squarely in the face! If you persist in 
your refusal, you are not only sacrificing yourself, 
you are sacrificing me, whom you say you love, and 
I believe you, Meg, I believe you. It is all very well 
to consider my uncle’s feelings, and his money. But 
if you think he has any feelings, you are very much 
mistaken. As for affection 1 There’s not a particle 
of affection in him. It is pride, and obstinacy I 
Nothing else I ” 

He had been walking up and down the dingy par- 
lor, making the furniture creak with his long, quick 
strides, nervously gnawing his mustache, while he 
pulled in and out of his hand some fresh bills he 
held. 

Now he stopped, folded his arms, looking down at 
her as, with her back turned to him, she pressed her 
forehead on the dusty window-pane, hiding from him 
her tearful face. 

He seemed to find sufficient for contemplation in 
her graceful shoulders and the tawny hair, that 


6 


CALAMITY JANE. 


caught all the sunshine in its soft meshes, for he 
stood without speaking. Yet he had much to say, 
and plenty of ability to say it. There was no lack 
of ability about him, nor of fire, as with his deep-set 
gray eyes fixed upon her, he stood, a tall, lithe young 
fellow in the flower of manhood. 

He was evidently trying to control his nervous- 
ness and argue the matter calmly, for presently he 
left off gnawing his mustache, that had suffered 
somewhat from his fierce attack ; and pushing back 
the dark hair that had fallen over his brow as he had 
run his fingers nervously through it, he went on more 
deliberately. 

“ Meg, my dear girl ! I know my uncle better 
than you do, and I do him no injustice when I say 
that the only strong feelings he has ever evidenced 
are pride and obstinacy. Nothing else! Now if I 
never inherit anything from Lawyer DePew, I have 
these two precious qualities as a birthright. I am 
decidedly too proud to wait like a Jog for a bone 
from his larder, and something too obstinate to give 
up what is dearer than my life. Come, Meg ! Show 
yourself the true woman that you are, and in place 
of crushing down your heart with false reasoning, 
turn around and say you’ll have me. That’s a dear ! 
Just look away from the dusty glass that is smutch- 
ing your pretty little nose. Look at me, Meg. I 
really am a pleasanter object than those old barrels 
waiting for the garbage cart, and then if you’ll look 
into my eyes you can never again doubt, since you 
believe in such an unfashionable part as the soul, 
that I love you with all I ever shall possess of that 
superior essence.” 

He put his arm tenderly about her, drawing her 
away from the contemplation of the unattractive 
street, and placing his hand under her soft chin, held 
up her face. 

It was a pretty young face despite the swollen 
lids and the compliment of dust paid to its fairness 


HIS WOOING. 


7 


by the window, against which in her agitation she 
had leaned. And her eyes, just matching her hair, 
were very tender ones, as she looked into the darker 
faco bended over hers. She was a tender little 
creature altogether, who until now had found life 
any thing but pleasant, since to her, an orphan, poor 
and almost friendless, it had been but a hard strug- 
gle for bare subsistence. Yet, with all this for past 
experience, she was steeling her heart against a very 
capable young fellow, who was most anxious to do 
the hard fighting for her, and give her the easier 
portion. 

She had refused him for his sake, for his sake 
only. This she had told him months ago, when first 
he had asked her to marry him, and he, on her 
refusal, had boldly affirmed that she had not loved 
him. 

Not love him ? Every one must love him, and 
most of all she, who was so friendless, and to whom he 
had been so kind. She had assured him of this with 
sweet faltering speech, making it eloquent with her 
hot blushes and tender eyes. And he had laughed 
in his heart, for a woman’s will seemed such a 
slight thing to withstand the power of their mutual 
love. 

He had found it an impassable barrier, however, 
for she had no doubt of her own sincerity, and what 
was best for him. So she had not only withstood 
all the force of their young passion, but even his elo- 
quence. Her determination had held him, though he 
had argued against it many times, and being by edu- 
cation a lawyer, he was “ up ” in special pleading. 

Yet with all these advantages, she had not wav- 
ered in her refusal to accept him, whom alone she 
desired. For it was against his interest to marry 
her. She was sure of that. He was the nephew, 
namesake, and prospective heir of rich Lawyer De- 
Pew, whose copyist she had become through the 
chance of seeing an advertisement in a paper in 


8 


CALAMITY JANE. 


which, at a desperate moment, out of employment, 
and almost penniless, she had invested one of her 
few remaining nickels. 

“ Wanted, a copyist.” This had inspired her with 
hope. A hope, strong enough to enable her to walk 
down town, through the crowded business streets of 
New York, and to hurry her up the long flights of 
dusty stairs, to the offlce of “ Charles M. EXePew, 
Attorney and Counselor-at-law.” 

So very beautifying was this hope, that she might 
obtain the position of copyist, that chancing to meet 
Charles DePew, nephew of the distinguished lawyer 
who had preceded his uncle to their place of busi- 
ness, he thought her the most charming girl he had 
ever seen. And being rather in the present aesthetic 
craze for ideals, he decided not to speak to her, lest 
•the illusion of her young beauty be destroyed by 
some ungrammatical word or an inharmonious voice, 
for seeing by her costume that she was poor, he 
imagined she was uncultivated. So with a grave 
bow after her timid “ yes ” to his query whether she 
desired to see Mr. Charles M. DePew, he withdrew 
to an inner offlce where he regaled himself with the 
morning news and an occasional glance at her 
through the partly open door. 

He had lived his life of twenty-eight years among 
New York’s charming women, had become so used 
to the “ darts and arrows ” these bewildering creatures 
cast about them, that he had begun to believe him- 
self invulnerable. Yet now, having most ceremoni- 
ously saluted Meg, he kept thinking of her, while 
she, poor little creature, with shining eyes and dry 
throat, thought only of, hoped only for, the position 
of the “ wanted copyist.” 

Charles DePew was so much pleased with the 
girl’s appearance that when his uncle entered the 
offlce, he put down the morning’s journal, giving 
his entire attention to the conversation between 
Charles M. DePew and the young person seeking 


HIS WOOING. 


9 


employment. It was a very short interview, barely 
giving him time to decide that her voice was agree- 
able, her speech educated, when with a “ Good 
morning, sir,” she departed, carrying a roll of manu- 
script. 

Once more chance threw Meg in the way of the 
young man, as with the manuscript she came late to 
the office, where he had been detained. This much 
Charles DePew owed to what is called fate, after 
which he took the affair in his own hands, and while 
still to Meg their constant meetings seemed the 
result of accident, they were due solely and entirely 
to the will of this decidedly strong-willed young 
fellow. 

He was always early at the office on the days Meg 
was to bring the manuscript, and generally found 
business to delay him any afternoon when there was 
a possibility of her coming. He was frequently on 
the steps as she passed in or out, and once meeting 
her on the street, had remarked, in what Meg con- 
sidered the purest kindness : 

“ It is quite late for a lady to be alone in the 
street, will you allow me to walk with you to the 
stage ? ” 

“ Thank you.” Meg’s grateful look made her 
more than ever charming to him. So charming, 
that he not only put her in the stage, but took the 
seat next hers, the manuscript out of her hand ; in 
fact gave her an amount of care and attention, that 
made her lonely little heart well up with her grati- 
tude. Yet she had asked him “ please not to trouble 
himself further,” when the stage stopping at her 
street, he had helped her down, and still carrying 
the manuscript, had walked a few steps with her. 
Whereat he had laughed, a frank, pleasant laugh, 
and said she had “queer notions about trouble,” 
that this was a matter of pleasure as far as he was 
concerned. He made it a pleasure to her also, per- 
haps the greatest she had ever known. Yet when 


lO 


CALAMITY JANE. 


they had reached the dingy house where Meg had 
found “i*easonable board and lodgings,” she had 
thanked him for his courtesy, and had not invited 
him in. He, to her, seemed as the sunshine to a 
flower. But she was such a wise little flower ; she 
knew the sunshine was not for her. So well did she 
know this, that the next time the elegant Charles 
escorted her home, she asked him, with many blushes 
and much nervous trembling, “ Please not to do so 
again.” 

“ Am I so very disagreeable to you ? ” this wily 
Charles had asked. In answer to which Meg’s ferv- 
ent “ Oh, no ! ” had made him declare with that 
mastery of manner, which with women constituted 
Charles DePew’s principal attraction : 

“ Well then, since I am not absolutely unpleasant 
to you, and you are most pleasant to me, I certainly 
will do it again.” 

It had seemed a matter of course that this girl 
should yield to his will, as all other girls had done. 
But Meg had been country born, purely raised, edu- 
cated by adversity, and learned in self-denial, so she 
had persisted in her request, that he should not 
again be her escort to her home. “ For though you 
are much kinder than any one has been, since I an 
orphan lost by death my only friend, still, still, I 
can not walk with you. Because you are rich, and I 
am poor, and — and — it is not right,” she had simply 
stated. 

Perhaps Charles DePew had never yet lost his 
heart, because he had found lovely women so will- 
ing to conquer him. Perhaps this tender little 
creature was his fate, created for him especially. 
At any rate, as she gave him her reasons for declin- 
ing the future pleasure of his company, he thought 
her blushes, her eyes, her whole self, the sweetest 
picture of woman the world held. In fact, that she 
was the woman for him. So with mock submission, 
that passed for real to her who was without guile, 


HIS WOOING. 


II 


he bowed his head, raised his hat, said “ Good-by,” 
with just sufficient regret to cut her to the heart, 
and — called at her house the following Sunday 
afternoon. 

It was the style of house that Charles had often 
remarked, when he had passed the unfashionable 
streets where they do belong, as the “essence of 
discomfort.” With dust all over it, shutters sinking 
into decrepitude, and the sidewalks barely comply- 
ing with the city’s regulations, there was nothing 
about it to invite, and every thing to repel. Yet it 
was the best home Meg had been able to obtain ; 
its cheap board, the finest she could pay for ; though 
she was willing, active and industrious, was fairly well 
educated, and had, besides her beauty, a sweet, true 
voice. This last she utilized as soprano in a poor 
church, where its salaries were in keeping with its 
circumstances. She had just returned from after- 
noon service on the Sunday of Mr. DePew’s first 
call, and sitting in her very small apartment, was 
looking at the sky over the house-tops, trying to 
argue away the sorrow in her heart. She had tried 
during service to sing it away, but without success. 
For over the sweet tones of her voice, up it would 
rise, recalling to her memory the face of Charles De- 
Pew, as he had said “Good-by.” And now the 
arguments and reasoning she was applying as cor- 
rectives, were just as futile as the choir hymns and 
the church’s prayers had been ; until the landlady 
herself knocking at the door to announce : 

“A gentleman to see you. Miss Stephens, and a 
mighty stylish one,” sent sorrows flying to the outer 
darkness, and ushered joy into Meg’s tender breast. 

Excited, lovely, breathless, she had fairly flown 
down the steps, and, instead of reproving the gen- 
tleman as she fully intended to do, had sealed his 
fate and her own. For, from the moment when the 
introduction into that most unbeautiful parlor of 
the beautiful Meg Stephens had made Charles 


12 CALAMITY JANE. 

DePew forget every thing but her, he determined to 
marry her. 

He did not at once avow this determination, being 
far too well accustomed to woman’s ways, but he 
informed Meg that instead of being the rich man 
she believed, he was only the poor nephew of the 
rich man, earning his living “ by the sweat of his 
brow,” and indebted to his uncle for his education 
only. That, as part repayment of this debt, he had 
resigned his chosen profession of assayer and geolo- 
gist, had taken up the law, and, entering his uncle’s 
office,had relieved him of the dull routine of business, 
which he would not entrust to a clerk. And, there- 
fore, having set himself on a right basis with Miss 
Stephens, he declined to be driven away. That he 
would not submit to such cruel treatment, and 
having passed a particularly tedious week, he had 
come to carry her across the river to a pretty place 
where she could see grass and walk under trees. 
And would she please come for sweet charity’s 
sake ! 

Of course, Meg declined, being constrained by her 
idea of duty. But since he was much larger and 
stronger than she, it was impossible to put him out 
of the house, which he declared was the only way 
she could get rid of him. And, as it was equally 
impossible to leave him when she was so entirely 
glad to be with him, they sat and talked in the ugly, 
poverty-stricken parlor, making it lovely with the 
verdure of their thoughts, and filling it with the 
flowers that were blooming in their hearts. 

They had so much to say to each other, so many 
laugh-provoking fancies, that the hours passed gaily, 
ten o’clock finding them with as many thoughts as 
if they had just begun to talk. 

This evening had been followed by many others, 
until DePew, reasonably secure, had asked Meg to 
have him, and had been refused. Her refusal, how- 
ever, had only the more endeared her to her lover, 


HIS WOOING. 


13 


revealing, as it had done, her sweet, unselfish 
nature. Upon his determination to marry her, it 
had had no other effect than, if possible, to 
strengthen it. While she refused him, and assured 
him her answer was final, she could not be utterly 
hard with him, whom she so loved. Thus some- 
times she would walk out with him, stipulating only 
that they shoufd not go where his rich friends could 
see him, since in her own mind, with many a pang, 
she had long ago determined that some rich and 
lovely woman would, at some time, marry Charles 
DePew. And ^she, she would be the last one to 
stand in the way of his comfort and happiness, 
thought sweet Meg. It was during one of these 
walks, so delightful to both, that Lawyer DePew, 
driving in the park, chanced to see his nephew. 
And Charles DePew, with the most amiable 
audacity, had bowed to his uncle. 

Mr. DePew, Sen., had never been remarkable for 
amiability. Now, however, when he saw his nephew, 
who in his handsome person and high intellect repre- 
sented the pride of a long lineof DePews, walking 
through a shady lane with so insignificant an indi- 
vidual as a female copyist, the rich uncle grew furi- 
ous. It had required all his self-control not to have 
at once descended from his elegant equipage and 
ordered away '■'■that person.” This was the best 
name he had for poor innocent Meg, who had not 
been aware of the rich man’s propinquity, her eyes 
at that moment being fixed upon the landscape. The 
lawyer was so much excited by the possible results 
of her ‘‘designing conduct,” that he could not wait 
until breakfast, when he would be sure to meet his 
nephew, but left word with the servant at the door to 
“ Send Mr. Charles to the study as soon as he 
comes home.” 

Mr. Charles was in no hurry to return. Did not, 
in fact, until the afternoon was over and the evening 
spent with Meg, taking unto itself wings, he was 


CALAMITY JANE. 


14 

obligee to say, “Good-night.” Then walking along 
the elegant street which numbered the DePews 
among its residents, he reached his uncle’s mansion, 
received the message, and, with a laugh at what he 
knew was coming, entered the study where the elder 
DePew was raging alone. 

His nephew’s handsome face unclouded by fear of 
anything, irritated him beyond even the require- 
'^ents of civility: 

“ How long has this thing been going on ? ” he 
asked, ignoring Charles’ pleasant “ Good evening, 
sir,” and showing his white teeth in a most unsmiling 
grimace. 

“ What do you call thing f ” Charles DePew cer- 
tainly inherited some temper from his distinguished 
ancestors. For, as his uncle had spoken, his smile 
had vanished, his face had clouded black and angry, 
and though the older man’s unreasoning rage should 
have provoked any reasonable man’s amusement, 
there was no amusement in his nephew’s answer, as 
without waiting for his uncle to speak, he went on : 

“ If, sir, you mean by things my attentions to Miss 
Stephens, they have been, and will go on, whenever 
that lady permits them. That they amount to noth- 
ing more than polite attentions, is because she will 
accept nothing more, having several months since 
refused to marry me.” 

“ yidiYYy you / Lawyer DePew’s voice rose to a 
shout at this astounding proposition. A DePew re- 
fused by a copyist ! He glared at his nephew, mutter- 
ing something that sounded like an imprecation. 
And Charles, glaring back at him, his dark face dark- 
ened by an angry flush, his gray eyes black with ex- 
citement, while he did not speak, was in his silence 
more impressive than a vocabulary of imprecations! 

They made quite a study of the angry passion, 
these two well-educated and well-bred men. Only 
while Mr. DePew, Senior, with the angry wrinkles 
in his fresh-colored skin, his carefully tended whiskers 


HIS WOOING. 


15 


standing stiffly, as his drawn mouth disclosed his 
teeth, might have provoked laughter, his nephew, 
equally angry, would have awakened admiration. 
For, with his nostrils swelling, his brow in a heavy 
frown, his eyes flashing, and his teeth gleaming 
through the dark brown of his mustache, he cer- 
tainly was a fine young fellow, whose elegance did 
not detract from his manliness. 

Yet for all that, for all Lawyer DePew’s wealth 
and position, and the buried ancestors of both, the 
two felt absolutely wolfish towards each other. 
Neither desiring anything better than a violent con- 
flict, from which nothing deterred them, but the 
trifling factors of education and society’s require- 
ments. 

The sooner tired, because his eyes not being very 
strong, felt the strain of this prolonged stare. Lawyer 
DePew threw himself into a chair, and with the 
sneer on his lips that had enraged many a legal op- 
ponent, said : 

“ Are you aware, Mr. DePew, what consequences 
for you would be entailed if Miss Stephens were to 
consider her refusal, and accept you ? Are you 
aware that our relations would be severed by such 
connection as your marriage with a copyist ? It is 
doubtless a much elevated profession, this of Miss 
Stephens’, but one I fail to appreciate, and one, 
moreover, that would destroy for you any hopes of 
inheritance from me.” 

Charles DePew’s sneer quite matched his uncle’s 
as he replied : 

“ My relations with you, sir, are not indispensable 
to my existence. As for future hopes of inheritance, 
I prefer making my own living to selling my man- 
hood or truckling for a few dollars.” 

There was a little further of equally agreeable in- 
terchange of sentiment, wherein Lawyer DePew 
asserted that if his nephew continued his acquaint- 
ance with Miss Stephens, he -should change his will 


6 


CALAMITY JANE. 


without delay ; and his nephew urged him to do so, 
assuring him that the object of his life was to make 
Miss Stephens his wife, to which end he would use 
both opportunity and importunity. That to him no 
honor was equal to that of being her husband, which 
he would become as soon as* he possibly could. 
After which both gentlemen bowed, both sneered, 
and wishing each other “ Good evening," parted ; 
each feeling himself thoroughly in the right, and 
believing the other to be an absolute fool. So much 
for the justice of man to man. 

After the interview with his uncle, Charles De- 
Pew informed Meg that Lawyer DePew’s temper 
being villainous, and his own less than angelic, they 
had quarreled ; he had been formally disinherited. 
That he was glad of it, since the possibility of his 
uncle’s money coming to him had made her refuse 
him ; and that if she did not consent now to become 
his wife, when he had no one but himself to depend 
on, and was poor enough to suit any lover of pov- 
erty, he really did not care what became of him. 

This reckless indifference to his future on the part 
of him she loved so wrung Meg’s heart that the tears 
ran freely down her cheeks. Yet she strove to 
reason with him, to convince him it was his duty to 
consider his uncle’s feelings and conciliate him. 
Being ignorant that she had been the cause of the 
quarrel, Meg was spared self-reproach; but she 
suffered so at Charles’s determination, unless she 
concluded to become his wife, of going away for- 
ever somewhere — anywhere, that the gentle stream 
of her tears became r torrent, to hide which she had 
turned her eyes away, pressing her forehead against 
the glass. 

Then, unable to see her lover’s handsome face, 
and feeling less keenly the ardent love in his eyes, 
she had presented the reasonable side for his con- 
sideration. 

Even if you think you love me, it would be 


HIS WOOING, 


17 


better to wait before sacrificing all your opportuni- 
ties by a hasty marriage you might regret. It is 
only right to consult your uncle’s views. He may 
have some plans for your future, and though he may 
never leave you a cent, he has already given you a 
most liberal education.” 

Meg spoke gently and calmly, her words sending 
Charles striding about the room, until, having de- 
livered himself, he stopped to look at the delicate 
girlish figure. Then, at the remembrance of her 
hard fight for her daily bread, and her uncomplain- 
ing sweetness, he put his arm. around her, looked at 
her pretty tearful face, kissed her, and told her the 
matter was settled. That he would carry her off 
and marry her at once, unless, like a sensible girl, 
she would consent to be his wife, when he would 
get a special license, and to-morrow morning early 
they two would become one. 

He was so very eloquent, reasonable, reckless and 
devoted, all at the same time, that Meg first begged 
for a few days to consider, and finally surrendered, 
gave him her promise, and became his property. 

Then his happiness was so evident that she grew 
happy too, and seated together on the old sofa that 
had long since lost its springs, they were more to be 
envied than monarchs on their thrones. 

“ I am a lucky fellow, Meg, to have found you,” 
said Charles, his eyes and face glowing ; “ and though 
you believed me penniless. Tin not quite. See! 
here are two hundred dollars,” smoothing out the 
fresh bills he had been crumpling in his hands. 
“ They are the last fees I shall ever receive in my 
uncle's office. They don’t make a very great capital, 
but they are more than Adam had when he began 
housekeeping, and I think I am a better fellow than 
that old vagabond. So you see, my girl, you have 
the advantage of one woman. Now, what I propose 
is to start out to the Black Hills. There’s a great 
field there for a lawyer ; and if 1 don’t succeed in 


i8 


CALAMITY JANE. 


that, I can turn assayer. The mining excitement is 
just beginning. It promises to be a great camp, 
and Tm tired of this conventional life. Are you 
willing? ” 

Of course Meg was. So the next morning a car- 
riage drove up to the dingy boarding-house, and 
drove away with Miss Stephens to a parochial resi- 
dence where, her lover having previously made all 
arrangements, she became Mrs. Charles DePew, and 
Charles himself became happy as a manly fellow can 
be, who has won for his wife the girl he loves, and 
knows how to value her. 


CHAPTER II. 


“ THEY START AWAY.’* 

H aving enlarged his capital by the sale of every 
available possession, Charles wrote a note to his 
uncle, informing him of his marriage, and regretting 
that their opinions were at such divergence, signed 
himself his “ sincere nephew,” directed it to his 
office, and put it in the mail-box. 

This done, he gave himself up to happiness, which, 
being a rare boon to man, he all the more appre- 
ciated. And no man could be happier than Charles 
DePew, nor woman than Meg, as together they 
looked out of the windows of the comfortable 
“ sleepers ” upon the farms and prosperous towns of 
New York, Pennsylvania and Ohio ; the rolling 
prairies and bounteous fields of Illinois and Iowa, as 
the cars rushed westward. The streams that ran on 
their way, sparkling in tho sunshine, or hiding in the 
shadows, called forth laughs of pleasure, as, indeed, 
when one is happy, trivial things will do, and nature 
seems a friend, whose heart beats responsive to joy. 

Crossing the great iron bridge that spanned the 
Missouri, was a fresh source of wonder to the un- 
traveled girl. Fresh also to the traveled man, 
who though he had journeyed much, had never 
been so happy as now, could never as now, find 
equal pleasure in any thing. Even the bleak plains, 
that seem deserts after the flowery eastern lands, 
were not without beauty to this happy pair. For 
desolate as were the lonely cabins, these two con- 
cluded that there, if together, they could be happy ; 


20 


CALAMITY JANE. 


and forthwith the unlovely plain buildings, took 
upon themselves the halo of that paradise from 
which being cast away, cynics call — the fool’s. 

At Sidney they left the train, finding the ugly 
little town teeming with excitement. A Union 
Pacific train had been stopped, robbed, and the 
thieves were here now in hiding, was whispered in 
the new-comers’ ears. Each resident of the station, 
that had gone into freighting to the Black Hills, 
being anxious to increase its importance, was 
pleased to claim for it any distinction. “ This is an 
adventure, Meg!” said Charles, catching the ex- 
citement ; “ if these encounters are frequent, I must 
provide myself with pistol and bowie-knife.” 

But Meg having all a woman’s fear for weapons, 
her husband compromised the matter by walking 
around the town with her, while both tried to 
imagine which, among the many big-hatted, heavily- 
bearded men, were the redoubtable thieves. 

All, however, looking equally innocent, or guilty, 
they gave up the matter as an impossible conun- 
drum, and on the following morning, under sky of 
purest, clearest blue, started for the Black Hills. 

The stage was crowded, men, women, and children 
hurrying out to the mines, risking all the fatigues 
and dangers of the trip — to make a fortune. 

Each stage that went dreaded an attack from the 
Indians, a number of whom had left the reservation, 
and almost every stage was overhauled by those 
gentlemen who take your valuables, break open the 
mails, and yet are politely called, “ Road Agents.” 
But all these were nothing in the scale, weighted 
with that wonderful fortune each was sure to make. 

To invest the trip with something like a romance, 
DePew secured the two seats on the box for Meg 
and himself. ^ The driver’s demurs at “ A lady ter 
come up here,” being cut short by the appearance 
of Meg’s pretty face, his frown changing to a broad 
smile, as quick and active she climbed over the 


''THEY START AWAY. 


21 


wheel, seating herself beside him with a pleasant 
“ Good-morning.” 

And the smile grew yet more genial when DePew 
handing him a cigar invited him to smoke, with the 
words : “ My wife doesn’t object.” 

“Your wife! Wal that’s too bad. I thought she 
was your sister, an’ was a thinking what a time yer’d 
hev with all them fellers in the hills. They is 
stuck arter gals. An ugly ’un gets lots o’ chances. 
But a purty ’un 1 My! Well ! shake,” he put out his 
great hand, “ I wishes yer luck.” A warm hand- 
shake all around made them good friends, as the 
stage being packed full, with a motley crowd from 
a squalling infant to an old man ; the driver shouted 
“ All aboard ! ” gave a crack of his whip, a yell to 
his team, and with a jerk that nearly threw Meg to 
the ground, off they started. 

That she laughed in place of screaming, raised her 
yet higher in the driver’s esteem. 

“ I’m glad o’ yer pluck,” he said, and then after say- 
ing over her head to DePew, “She’s ahead o’ most 
women, ” gave his attention to his team of four 
horses. 

They were wild young broncos with plenty of 
spirit and no particular gait. Galloping, running, 
trotting, all varieties of going were allowed, provided 
only that they went. The slightest lagging was 
punished with the sharp cut of the whip, at whose 
whiz, with kicking, springings, and jumpings, the 
horses would dash ahead in a manner that, with less 
tough traces, would have set them free. 

But the tugs held firm, and the broncos dashed 
onward, pulling the stage rapidly after them. 

With her arm locked in her husband’s, Meg 
gazed over the wild country through which they 
were racing. What a great expanse of desert ! But a 
desert of most wonderful skies, most beautiful effects 
of light and shade, making alkali spots seem fair 
lakes, until on approach the water would vanish, and 


22 


CALAMITY JANE. 


there, before them, would lie patches of useless 
earth, parching, cracking for the water it had simu- 
lated. 

In varying colors rocks were piled into all man- 
ners of shapes, making Meg’s heart beat as she 
fancied them fortresses behind which Indians were 
waiting to attack them, and then thrill with admi- 
ration as under the frowning battlements they 
dashed, and she saw they were but monuments of 
piled-up sand, hardened to rocks, monuments placed 
by nature in the desert making beauty ever out of 
desolation. 

“We’ll be at the fust station in less time nor yer 
ken count fifty,” said the driver, turning on Meg a 
face so covered with alkali dust that, except the 
twinkling blue eyes, he too seemed a part of those 
wonderful rocks. Face, beard, hat, all were alkali, 
the only living remnant those twinkling eyes. So 
merrily they twinkled, so jolly he looked, that Meg 
laughed, a gay little laugh. 

“ Larfin’ at me, are yer? Yer are a nice little 
woman,” he said, and then with “ Gol darned ! Ef 
we ain’t hyer afore I know^ed it ! ” jerked back the 
team before a building, so low and small that it 
seemed to have mysteriously arisen from behind a 
sandhill. Men were already leadings the broncos to 
the stable. Exhausted, they went quietly enough. 

Not so the team leaving it, who, harnessed ready 
to start, young, unbroken, looking around in affright, 
struggled with the hostlers, who, at heads and sides, 
with pushes, kicks, and all the words of soothing and 
command known to their occupation, forced them to 
their places. 

They were four such unruly young brutes that, 
even when the leaders were secured, the men still 
held their heads, until the driver shouting “ Ready!” 
they sprang back. And not one instant too soon, 
for, freed, the horses leaped forward, making the' 
stage-coach fairly fly. 


“ THE Y START A WA Y. 


23 


“ Them’s the team ! The boss team on the road ! 
No use fer a whip fer them,” the driver said with 
pride, as in a dead run, up hill, down hill, across gul- 
lies, on level ground, on went the horses in their 
swift pace. 

It was as much as Meg could do to keep her seat, 
although her husband’s arm was around her, steady- 
ing her, and the driver called, “ Hitch on ter me ! ” 

There was no chance now to look at the surround- 
ing country. Filled with the excitement of the fine 
animals, her eyes were fixed on the two black heads, 
one bay, and one gray, as each horse strained every 
muscle in the effort to outdo the other in this mad 
race. 

“ They are splendid creatures,” exclaimed DePew. 
“ It seems a shame they should have no better des- 
tiny than to wear themselves out pulling a stage- 
coach.” 

“ Don’t yer enjoy them? 1 do ! We ain't got but 
one life to live, let’s enjoy the best o’ it,” the driver 
shouted back in disconnected sentences, while the 
wind went whistling by, and the horses, untired, spun 
along their twentieth mile. Fresh of life as at the 
start, they required all the driver’s strength to pull 
them back, back, until, sweating and trembling, they 
stopped, obedient to man’s will, and waited for un- 
harnessing. 

“ Well done, my beauties ! ” called the driver. Giv- 
ing a word of direction so the hostlers, he sprang to 
the ground and held up his hands to Meg. “ Come 
down, young woman, and take your first rancher’s 
dinner. This is frontier life,” he said. 

Meg, filled with excitement from her quick pas- 
sage through air, to exhilarating that her flesh 
seemed bathed in a tonic, looked around in disap- 
pointment. Was this a ranch ? This forlorn house 
of discolored lumber, with a great pile of empty cans 
at the door, like bones around the giant castles where 
the redoubtable Jack went seeking adventures. 


CALAlviITV JANE. 


H 


“ Oh ! " she sighed, “ 1 had thought that on a real 
frontier ranch, bears’ skins would be in profusion, 
with deers’ antlers over doors ! Something quite 
different from this.” 

Ha ! Ha ! ” laughed the driver, “ them’s the pic- 
ter’s as sets boys wild. But, whiles I don’t say as 
how b’ars and deers can’t be sometimes found, they 
is a past fashion. Men has killed so many young 
bucks, buffaloes and b’ars, thet the beasts hes growed 
monstrous cunnin’, an’ keeps far away. It onc-e was 
thet these plains would sometimes be anigh black 
with a herd o’ wild buffaloes, their eyes red like dan- 
ger-lights on a car, an’ their tails switchin’ the air, 
while above ’em rose a cloud o’ dust, warnin’ men ter 
fly. But them days is passed ” — he shook his head 
— ‘‘ they has passed. Gone like the glory o’ stage 
drivin’. Now, any man ken get the place es ken 
hold the lines. But onct a stage driver was a feller 
as had some power, some rights.” 

He drew himself up to his full height, and with 
ruddy face, bright eyes, strong, vigorous body, he 
made a fine picture of the “power o’ a stage 
driver.” 

“ A past fashion,” his face grew serious ; “ yer see 
money’s lord now. Even out here with lots o’ room 
ter spare, an’ not too much chance for spendin’ it, 
the fellers catches the disease, an’ it ain’t so much a 
helpin’ each other an’ a gloryin’ in fightin’an enemy, 
whether it’s b’ars or redskins, as it’s a layin’ up a 
pile ’cause some other feller did it. Them million- 
aires hes done more harm to the workin’ class than 
so many famines would ha’ done.” 

The old fellow sighed as he ruminated over the 
general degeneracy of the times. And Meg, whose 
heart, while not particularly against millionaires, 
knew something of the “ workin’ class,” looked at 
him with sympathizing eyes. Seeing which Ned 
gave a laugh, the twinkle coming back to his own. 
“ Yer is pityin’ me ! Yer is ready ter pity anythin’ 


‘‘ THEY START A WAYT 2 ^ 

from a mule ter a stage-driver. Waal, pity's a purty 
thing when it looks out o’ your face. But don’t you 
waste it. I was jest a philosophizin’. These ain’t sech 
bad times ! The pay’s sure. Climate’s healthy, an’ we 
does hev a little excitement atween the road agents 
an’ the raids o’ the Injuns, when they wants ter try 
the guns Uncle Sam pervides fer their amusement.” 

“Dinner!” called in a dismal, guttural voice, 
roused the driver from his reminiscences, and De- 
Pew coming for his wife, she entered the house, 
whose interior of one room, with greasy stove, piles 
of bedding thrown in a corner, and long table of 
very unclean lumber, was less attractive than the 
yawning, empty cans. For out doors there was the 
sky to look at, the pure air to breathe. While here : 
Meg’s pretty nose gave an involuntary curl, as the 
whiffs of burning beef and dirty blankets came to 
its nostrils. 

Seated beside her husband, she began a study of 
the art culinary as presented by a rancher, on the 
stage route to Deadwood, and although her appe- 
tite was sharpened by her long ride, the study was 
most short, and result unsatisfactory; since her poor 
little stomach positively refused the great chunks of 
beef swimming in grease, and the potatoes supple- 
mented by a dressing of flies. Even DePew, who 
had determined to “rough it,” was brought to a 
sudden pause by those flies. “ They are too small 
game for a first western dinner,” he whispered Meg. 
And Ned, the stage driver, who had been joking the 
hosts, catching the remark, laughed long and heartily. 

“ I say. Jack 1 ” he called to the owner of the 
guttural voice, “ these fellers are making fun o’ yer 
cookin’. Now I’ll jest take my Bible oath,thet you 
hes furnished ’em one thing that the city o’ New 
York can’t furnish better.” 

At which bold assertion of Ned’s, the guttural 
voice and its owner, a dismal-looking young man, 
was roused to something like interest. 


26 


CALAMITY JANE. 


“What’s it?” he asked, while speculation glim- 
mered in his dull eyes. 

“What’s it? Why yer has put it here! Can’t 
yer tell ? ” asked Ned, waving his hand towards the 
most unattractive repast of beef and potatoes that 
can be imagined. 

“ No, I can’t,” said Jack, as, having looked up and 
down, his eyes came back to Ned. 

“Yer can’t,” said Ned with scorn. “Why, man, . 
ther salt ! ” He shouted out the word with a roar 
of laughter, as he pushed back his plate, and bowing 
to Meg, went out to see “ after things.” 

A few minutes later, “Time’s up,” he called, and 
the passengers hurrying to their places, they rode 
away from the dismal house, with its yawning empty 
cans, and Meg’s first disillusion of frontier life. In 
noontide fury the sun poured down upon them. 
The freighting teams which, in goodly numbers, 
were making for the El Dorado, were pitiable to see. 
Toiling along, with tongues hanging out of mouths, 
they uttered their mute protest against their drivers’ 
haste in spite of their pain. The stage passed 
quickly, giving them its dust. Its passengers, inside 
and out, overpowered by the oppressive heat, were 
reduced to silence. Only the fretful crying of a 
child, and Ned’s calls to his team, mingled with the 
rattling of the wheels and creaking of the springs. 

The least concerned of - all in Ned’s command, 
was his team. Deaf to his voice, indifferent to the 
sharp cuts of his whip, they pursued the even tenor 
of their way, neither increasing nor decreasing their” 
moderate pace. 

They were a contrast, not too pleasant,. .to the 
fiery beasts left at the ranch. “ But we hes ter hev 
jest sech brutes as these,” Ned explained to Meg, 
“ for the long laps of road that must be passed at 
noon-time, where water is found only at distances of 
twenty and thirty miles.” 

The first break to the monotony of this drive was 


“ THEY START A WA Y. 


27 


the meeting with the down stage, that heralded its 
coming by a cloud of dust, stopping when side by 
side with Ned’s coach, while the drivers exchanged 
gossip. 

“ Deadwood’s risin’ like yeast powder! California 
capital’s cornin’ in ! Great strike in the DeSmith 
and Homestake 1 ” 

These words from the driver of the down coach 
made DePew’s heart beat, for he fancied himself 
already a millionaire, and kept dreaming of what he 
would do, and how Meg should outshine the fash- 
ionables of New York, while Meg herself thought 
principally of the team that Ned now, discarding his 
whip, was urging on with chain and stick ; in her 
pitiful heart fulfilling Ned’s words about mules. 

“ I — I’m afraid you will kill them ! ” she said, tim- 
idly touching Ned’s arm and looking at the mules. 

“Kill ’em!” laughed Ned, as he gave them a 
sounding whack. “ They’s used ter it. It’s quar, 
this livin’. A fine horse, or a fine man, jest steps 
out o’ life fer the derndest trifle, an’ miserable crit- 
ters, beasts or human, hangs on ter livin’ an’ 
endurin’ fer years. It’s all quar. But we gits used 
ter it. Ef we can’t, why we jest lays down by the 
road side like that,” he pointed to a dead ox, that 
had probably fallen under its load, and was left to 
perish in this desert. “ I’ll come ter it some day. 
Jest leave my ole carcass as a compliment ter these 
plains I has rid over so often.” 

Before Meg could utter the sympathizing words 
that rose to her lips, Ned had taken a flask from his 
pocket, and on DePew’s refusal to “ jine,” indulged 
in a goodvswallow of its contents. 

“ Wal, young man,” he said, wiping his mouth on 
his sleeve. “ When yer hes lived as long an’ worth- 
less a life as I hes, yer’ll find that when sperrits is 
low, it’s mighty handy ter hev a little outside, that 
on pourin’ down, raises a feller’s.” 

Whatever the spirits might do to other people, 


28 


CALAMITY JANE. 


these “sperrits ” raised Ned’s, for he drove on, smil- 
ing at his thoughts, despite the power of dust and 
temperature. 

The sun, still holding its furious heat, had changed 
its rays to evening’s crimson, when the stage arrived 
at the Reservation of the Sioux. 

It was a formidable looking camp, this reserva- 
tion, with its rows upon rows of wigwams, some of 
canvas, some of cedar, and its groups of tall, sin- 
ewy men, whose yellow thighs, exposed to view, dis- 
played their strong muscles. 

“Look at ’em, the tigers!” said Ned. “Here 
they is fed, clothed, fostered in their wuthlessness. 
An’ when they gits tired o’ government pap, off they 
goes on the war path, brains a babby, kill its daddy, 
violates its mammy, an’ arter a fight or so, they is 
amnestied, and brought back ter their reservation. 
So when they wants to go out agen, they ken, good 
and handy. Now, sir, either we is wrong, or we is 
right. If we is right ter come out and try ter make 
these plains give us a livin’, an’ pay taxes ter the 
government, why should we be kept as targets ^er 
the redskins? Why should they be fed, fattened, 
provided with firearms ter kill us ? An’ if we is 
wrong, why doesn't the United States just give up 
this mighty West with its gold regions, its cattle 
raisin’, its increasin’ civilization ? Why don’t it jest 
give up the whole of Ameriky ter the wild devils? 
It’s quar rulin’ an’ mightily mixed ! The govern- 
ment a sayin’ it can’t give up this country ter bar- 
barism. Yet I’ll be denied if it don’t foster ’em in 
barbarism, makin’ ’em feel that we pioneers, who bars 
all the hardships, are thieves an’ our women prey fer 
the wild beasts ter destroy. I tell yer it makes my 
blood bile 1 Ef they wants ter civilize them, why don’t 
they make ’em work ? Why don’t they let ’em know 
that work or starve’s the tune they’ve got ter’ dance 
to, and be derned if they’re of more consequence 
than the white man who has built up the country.” 


“ THEY START A WA Y. 


29 


Excited by his theme Ned barely finished as the 
stage, passing through part of the encampment, 
stopped at a low cedar building, the dwelling of the 
Indian agent. 

Around in picturesque groups were tall men, 
whose shoulders, arms, and thighs gleamed yellow 
through the openings of the blankets thrown about 
them. Young women with pappooses on their 
backs, old women with children crowding around, 
and all alike with the long noses, high cheek bones, 
and sharp eyes of the Sioux, who are among the 
most warlike of our aborigines. 

There’s an Indian coquette, Meg ! Look ! ” said 
her husband in an undertone. The inside passen- 
gers getting out, he had glanced around with vivid 
interest on the novel scene, until his eyes fell upon 
three Indians, who in their grouping told a ro- 
mance. 

Two of them braves, young and fiery, stood at 
each side of a squaw, who, tall as they, and sinewy, 
too, looked away with proud indifference from the 
eyes they fixed on her face. 

Her skirt of bright flannels, the beaded moccasins, 
the chains of gewgaws strung around her neck 
and arms, together with the feathers stuck in her 
head, proclaimed her a personage of rank and conse- 
quence, and the bright patches of brick-dust paiut 
on her cheeks, the streaks of it dyeing the parting 
of her hair, and the ornamentation of dark green 
paint on brow and throat, evidenced her strict atten- 
tion to the beautifying effects of Indian toilet. 

Low as was DePew’s voice, the squaw must have 
heard it. Or perhaps she caught only his glance ; 
perhaps she saw only that he was a young and hand- 
some fellow. Whatever induced her, she advanced 
a step, looked at him steadily, and then gravely 
bowed to him. 

Instantly DePew’s hat was in the air, and the bow 
returned with the grace of an accomplished gentle^ 


30 


CALAMITY JANE. 


man ; and instantly, with knives glistening in their 
hands, the ardor of their faces changed to rage, the 
two braves sprang before the squaw, menacing the 
white man who had received the favor. 

“Husband!” Meg cried, as she threw her arms 
around DePew, trying to shield him with her body. 

“Foolish child, there is no danger. Not here!” 
said her husband reassuring her, forgetting in her 
terror the squaw, the braves, even the lookers-on of 
his own race; when a disdainful “pst” from the 
squaw made both husband and wife look up, as with 
head in air, and contempt in every line of her curl- 
ing lips, “ Milk face ! ” she hissed, and turning 
away, walked off, followed by the braves. 

If, however, Meg did not awaken Indian admira- 
tion, she soon experienced their curiosity. For 
regaling herself with a good wash, during the wait- 
ing of the stage, she was startled by a noise at the 
small window which lighted the room. Turning, 
she screamed in affright at the faces crowded into 
the aperture, chattering like monkeys, with bright, 
bead-like eyes, laughing at her, until at her husband 
coming, at his angry voice and threatening gestures 
they disappeared and returned no more. But Meg 
did not feel safe until, once again mounted beside 
Ned, the coach rolled away from the agency. 

“Oh,” she said, with a shudder, as she looked 
back on the Indian encampment, “ I was terrified 
lest they should spring upon and murder us.” 

“ Ha ! ha ! ” laughed Ned, “ They ain’t fer killin’ 
jest now. They hes hed two or three sech parties 
o’ pleasure lately, and thar’s extra troops up yonder 
waiting ter swoop down on ’em. No, they ain’t fer 
killin’ so nigh ter the encampment.” He pointed off 
where, over the hill, there was a United States flag 
flying, and the low white building of a western bar- 
racks. 

“ No, thar ain’t no fear o’ bein’ killed jest now, at 
this agency. I know the Injuns, havin’ spent a life 


THEY START A WA F, 


31 


ik 


studyin’ ’em. They kills what can’t defend itself. 
A terror o’ what they might get an’ what they 
doesn’t quite understand, goes a heap o’ distance 
with them. But don’t yer never turn yer back on 
them ! Thar’s suthin’ so temptin’ ter an Injun, in a 
white man’s back ; that I’d not trust ’em with mine. 
No, not ef the Lord hed sent me an invite tu visit 
heaven, and a angel stood a holdin’ open the gate.” 

At the next station Ned parted from them. 

“ I hes taken an uncommon shine ter yer tur,” he 
said, when the station house came in sight. “ Un- 
common ! P’rap’s it’s because yer pretty an’ plucky,” 
he said to Meg. “ P’rap’s it is ’cause yer is jest startin’ 
out in life, an’ I’d not like fer yer horses ter baulk, 
afore yer gits ter the fust station. Now I don’t 
know ef yer hev a big book account, or ef yer hes all 
yer money with yer, but I advises yer, ef yer’d not 
be robbed by the agents, tu let her hide it. They 
never teched a woman ’till one o’ them, like a fool, 
bragged o’ savin’ the men’s money. And even now, 
they seldom disturb a pretty ’un. Leastwise the 
money stands the best chance with her,” nodding his 
head toward Meg. “An’ ef yer a sensible feller, 
yer’ll jest throw up yer hands, and let ’em go through 
yer.” 

“ Thank you ! ” said De Pew, “ but I’ve no notion 
to do any man’s bidding, and submitting to highway 
robbery is something I decidedly object to.” 

“ Shoo ! Shoo ! ” Ned looked around cautiously, 
stooping over Meg to whisper to her husband, 
“ Don’t yer speak so loud, yer never knows who’s 
about,” and then, still in a low tone, “Yer’ll be a 
derned fool, ef yer throws yerself agin an institution 
like that. A fool as’ll make a widderyo’ yer pretty 
wife. Who knows who’s in with these agents? 
Sometimes I think the conspiracy starts wi’ parties 
in the cars, fer they do find out uncommon sure 
when money’s aboard. Now, jest fer sport, ef they 
come’d up while I was with yer. I’d say let’s fight 


32 


CALAMITY JANE. 


’em. But I leaves yer here, all safe an sound, and 
while I don’t like ter accuse no man. I’d not tell a 
friend o’ mine to trust every stage driver. They do 
say as some o’ the drivers are in the perfession with 
the agents. But that’s neither here nor there. They 
hes the drop on yer, an’ ef yer resists, yer’ll Be shot 
dead. An’ it’ll be small comfort ter her, to know 
yer died resisting highway robbery.” 

This was a tragical ending to their wedding trip. 
An ending Meg by no means approved. She had 
been willing to share dangers, fatigue, hardships. 
But when these came in the shape of death to her 
husband, all her pluck vanished. And in her dis- 
tress, being most lovely, as well as most powerful in 
her present influence over DePew, she soon reduced 
him to terms. He declared that for her sake he 
would consent to the undignified position of being 
an unresisting victim to the vknights of the road. 
And she called him a darling, in the very softest 
whisper, while she secreted their small fortune in her 
white bosom, and then thanked Ned for his timely 
counsel. The only proviso DePew made, was : 

Remember, no man lays his hands on you. If he 
does. I’ll kill him, though I am killed the in- 
stant after.” With this, Meg had to be content, re- 
solving in her mind that if the emergency arose, 
when she would be called on to hold up her hands 
too, that she would hand out the money and ask 
them, “ Please not touch her, as her husband would 
not like it.” Which reason appearing all-sufficient 
to her innocent soul, she bade “ Good-by” to old 
Ned with many thanks for his kind advice and inter- 
est in them. 


CHAPTER III. 


ADVENTURES ON THE ROAD. 


a 


G OOD-BY, and good luck ter yer both,” shouted 
Ned, waving his hat to them, as seated beside 
the new driver they rode away from the station. 

It was sometime after sunset, but the clear soft at- 
mosphere still held the brightness of day. A charm- 
ing breeze refreshed the travelers, the exquisite 
shades of ever-changing clouds, and the feeling that 
they too were all the world to each other, made the 
hour beautiful to them, made the whole world a 
place of delight. 

With hand clasped in hand, on the top of a stage- 
coach, riding into a wild, unsettled country, they had 
their paradise with them, for such is love ! 

The driver, to whom as “ Mister Jake Scott,” Ned 
had introduced them with great solemnity, looked 
straight ahead, hardly noticing them after his bow, 
on learning from Ned that they were Mister and 
Mistress DePew, frien’s o’ mine.” 

“ Another phase of western character,” DePew 
had said to his wife, and with face burned almost 
black, with dark eyes that looked fierce under the 
broad-brimmed hat pulled over them, Jake was most 
unlike kindly old Ned. 

As they neared the supper station, that in a grove 
of willows rose like an oasis in the desert, Jake 
roused himself sufficiently to say : 

“ A nice place, and well cooked meals. The best 
on the road,” surprising DePew, by the modulation 
of his voice and his pronunciation, both of which, 
even in this short speech, were those of an educated 


34 


CALAMITY JANE. 


man. And DePew making a remark, which was 
aptly answered, the two were soon in animated con- 
versation, wherein Josephus, Confucius, and others 
equally famous, were alternately quoted by the aris- 
tocratic scion of the DePews, and the weather-beat- 
en, untidy stage driver. 

“ Pardon me,” said DePew, after he had assisted 
Meg to dismount, and stood beside the driver, “ but 
your information surprises me. You tell me you 
have been most of your life stage driving, yet you 
are as well-read as a college graduate. Opportunity 
is something in this world. How have you had the 
opportunity to study so much?” 

Jake smiled, showing white teeth. He was pleased 
at DePew’s compliment, although it embarrassed him. 
For a moment or so he hesitated, then with another 
smile, and another gleam of the white teeth, said: 

“ Mr. DePew, when I am up there on my seat, 
holding the lines, and looking ahead where earth 
meets sky, I feel the equal of any man. I feel the 
littleness of ambition, the worthlessness of money ; 
for in a moment, by the arrow of a savage, I have 
seen the darkening of the brightest ambition, the 
uselessness of wealth to add one moment’s existence 
to the most valuable life. But here on the ground 
those things seem of more consequence. I find my- 
self at a disadvantage. Let us discuss something 
else than Jake Scott. Are you not hungry? Let us 
go in and discuss the supper. We will both find it 
more satisfactory than I can ever be to either.” 

He had spoken with a grace, dignity, and at the 
same time diffidence, which more than ever im- 
pressed DePew, who, when he had said to Jake, “I 
fear I overstepped the boundary line of politeness,” 
and Jake had replied : 

“ Certainly not, sir. It is only the fool who mis- 
takes interest for impertinence ;” the men shook 
hands with a warm grip, that told more plainly than 
words that between these two, so widely separated 


ADVENTURES ON THE ROAD. 


35 


in the social scale, there was a possibility of that 
companionship, which is the true soul of friend- 
ship. 

They walked to the door where Meg stood looking 
in on a neat table spread with a white cloth and 
covered by a tempting meaL Several men were 
seated at the upper end, whose laughter at some joke 
was checked by the appearance of Meg, awaiting her 
husband, before seating herself. 

“ Will you sit by the fire and rest for a moment? 
The hostess has gone for some hot coffee,” said one 
of the four travelers, whose light wagon outside and 
. wraps thrown on a chair told that they had some 
moments preceded the stage in their enjoyment of 
the hospitality of this pleasant house. 

“ I fear we have been like the locusts of Egypt ; 
we were too hungry to think of those who might be 
coming after us. Now, however, if I could I would 
go hungry a week, that you might have the choicest 
fare.” 

The speaker was a young, boyish-looking fellow, 
so small and slight that as she stood near him, Meg’s 
stature lacked not much of his. So very young and 
childish he seemed, that while Meg’s lovely color 
rushing to her cheeks made her prettier than ever, 
she could not resent his gallantry. It was more 
amusing than offensive. 

“Thank you,” she said, much as she would have 
done to a boy aping man’s manners. “ You are very 
kind ; but I think I will rest better standing. We 
have been on the stage-coach since dawn.” 

“ Indeed ! ” the boy replied, with much tender 
sympathy compressed into that little word. Ten- 
derness, too, in the bright blue eyes fixed on her, as 
he asked with a boy’s outspoken frankness : 

“ Who could have been so cruel as to have brought 
you to this wild country?” 

Meg laughed a gay little laugh ; for as she had 
looked at the youngster, his slight figure, delicately 


3 ^ 


CALAMITY JANE. 


pretty face, and small hands, she had been tempted 
to ask him the question he had asked of her. This 
West certainly was a wonderful country, where stage 
drivers were learned as her own husband and chil- 
dren had the manners of men. 

‘‘You have a charming laugh,” said the boy. “ It 
does me good to hear it.” The good he felt was evi- 
denced by the pleasure in his face, as, smiling, he ad- 
vanced a step nearer Meg, when DePew, entering, 
touched her on the shoulder as she stood by the open 
fire with her back to the door. 

“ Come, Meg,” he said, “ we have a good meal be- 
fore us.” His voice and manner proclaimed their 
relationship even without Jake’s, 

“ Here is a seat for your wife, Mr. DePew,” as he 
pulled out two chairs. 

“ Married ! ” Alas for me ! ” whispered the boy, 
when, passing him with a bow, Meg seated herself 
beside her husband. 

She had, however, heard the whispered words, and 
bit her lips to keep back the laughter at the comical 
effect of this child playing at the manners and gal- 
lantries of an old beau. 

“ What do you suppose could have brought such a 
child to this country ? ” she whispered to her husband. 

“ Villainy, perhaps,” answered DePew, who at the 
moment, catching the boy’s admiring eyes fixed on 
his wife, felt more like thrashing than laughing at him. 

The boy saw his angry look, bowed to Meg, 
nodded to Jake with an “ Ah, J ake, amiable as usual ?” 
and returned to his seat at’ the other end of the 
table, where, to judge from the laughter of the three 
men old enough to be his father, he was the soul of 
the feast. 

Meg was so curious to know something of this 
child that she glanced at Jake intending to ask him. 
Jake, however, seemed lost in a gloomy reverie, so 
she turned to her husband : “ He must be some one 
of consequence,” she said. 


ADVENTURES ON THE ROAD. 


37 


“ More likely some run-away scapegrace,” an- 
swered her husband. Adding, “ If 'he looks at you 
again, Til throw him out of doors,” in a tone that 
evidenced his jealousy. 

Foolish as it might seem to be jealous of a boy 
whose age did not appear to reach seventeen, Meg 
respected her husband, loved him ; and, though 
she had never in her life felt equal curiosity as now, did 
not again glance at, or seem to be aware of the exis- 
tence of, the pretty child who had amused her. 

“ Here’s to woman, lovely woman ! ” It was the 
boy’s voice as, rising in his chair, he tossed off a 
glass of wine, and then directing one of his .com- 
panions to take some bottles from their basket, he 
left them with, “ My compliments,” he said, to the 
company generally, as he bowed his farewell. 

Passing Meg’s chair, “We will meet again,” he 
whispered, in a tone so low and soft that DePew, 
who was at that moment being served by the host- 
ess to a most appetizing ragout, did not hear him. 

At the door the boy turned, determined to catch 
Meg’s eyes. Involuntarily she looked up. “ Fare- 
well ! ” he said, and with a graceful bow, had disap- 
peared, as DePew sprang to his feet. 

“ I beg you will not. He is only a child,” im- 
plored Meg, holding to her husband’s hand. 

“ He is a child that shall be punished for im- 
pertinence,” said her husband. 

But somehow the landlady stood in his way. 
And though it was but a moment before she moved 
aside, light wheels were heard, and a voice calling 
back “Farewell,” announced the departure of the 
three men with the “ pretty boy.” 

“They’ve gone, sir. It’s no use,” the landlady 
said, apologetically. And then, “You’d better sit 
down, or every one will be talking and asking.” 

They were all busy enough just now with knives 
and forks. But DePew, knowing it was too late, for 
the boy was off, and seeing the distress in Meg’s 


38 


CALAMITY JANE. 


face, resumed his seat. After a moment or so, he 
grew ashamed of his jealous anger, pressed Meg’s 
hand under the table as a mute apology, and, recover- 
ing his appetite witli his good temper, made an 
excellent meal. 

“ Do you know that boy ?” he asked of the land- 
lady as he paid her. 

“Know him! You bet,” she answered. Pretty and 
tidy she glowed with pleasure, as she went on. 
“ Why, that boy, as you call him, is the daringest 
devil in the West. It would just turn your head, to 
know half he’s done. Boy! Well, I’d not be afraid 
to pit him against a dozen men ! You see, I 
thought as hpw Charley had made you mad, and I 
didn’t want to see you hurt, so I jest stood in your 
way till he’d gone.” 

This last, being whispered, and said in perfect 
good faith, amused DePew. He laughed heartily 
before he could reply : 

“ My good woman,” he said, “ when I can’t pro- 
tect myself against boys, I deserve to be hung.” 

“Oh! sir. You don’t know nothin’ about 
Charley. He’s the best shot I ever seen, lest Jake 
here can beat him.” 

At which adroit compliment, Jake, who had been 
rather moodily eating his supper, sprang up 
excitedly. “ Well, I can try,” he said. 

“ Well, Jake, I always has boasted on you, but to- 
night, as I’m living, I came near taking a back seat. 
You’ll have to jerk up if you beats Charley, for he 
went to the tree where you left three bullets side by 
side, and if he didn’t put three, one just a-top of 
each, I ain’t speakin’ to you now. Then he says, 
with his sweetest smile, ‘Tell Jake never to speak 
again ^ till he’s buried my three bullets with three 
of his’n.’ We was laughing over it, and Charley’s 
saying you’d not take up his dare, when the stage 
drove up.” 

“Not take up his dare ! Let Charley look to it 


ADVENTURES ON THE ROAD. 


39 


that I don’t take him up,” said Jake, with flashing 
eyes, as he left the room, and, going to the stage, 
took from underneath the apron a fine rifle. 

Examining it by the light of pine torches he had 
stuck into the ground, he walked to the tree where, 
deeply buried in the trunk, were Charley’s bullets 
with the mark on them. Then measuring off the 
paces, Jake took his position. Bang! bang! bang! 
the shots followed quick one on another, DePew 
raising the huzza of victory, when on examining the 
tree, they found the bullets driven in, each on top 
of Charley’s. 

“ I congratulate you ! ” said DePew, holding out 
his hand, “ you not only talk like a sage, but you 
shoot like a Nimrod. Come with us to the Black 
Hills. We are just starting out to make our for- 
tune. You shall share equal with us. Shan’t he, 
Meg?” 

The three stood alone, for the landlady, picking 
up Jake’s gun, had carried it into the house, and was 
handing it around for the admiration of the stage 
passengers. When Meg, appealed to by her hus- 
band, added her invitation to his, with equal kind- 
ness and heartiness, Jake looked from one to the 
other without speaking. All excitement had van- 
ished from his face, and, in the light from the torches 
he might have stood for a statue of gloorn, so sad 
were his great eyes. His voice, however, was very 
quiet as he replied : 

“ I thank you! I will not forget you! For my 
life has had few friends, and, until now, I have never 
had a chance to better it. But such as it is, I am 
tied to it. Tied to it by an oath of vengeance against 
the redskins. In one day they destroyed all I cared 
for. I swore I’d bide my time and take my revenge. 
And I’ve done it, year by year when they go out on 
their war-path. They know my name and tremble at 
it. I’ve never missed my aim, and, by heaven, I 
never will ! ” 


40 


CALAMITY JANE. 


His voice rose in whispered vehemence, as he took 
off his hat, like one registering a solemn vow, and 
disclosed a white forehead which was in as strange 
contrast to his sun-burned face as was his character 
to his occupation. 

“ I am sorry you will not go with us ; sorry your 
nature binds you to this constant retrospect,” said 
DePew. 

“ Perhaps you will change your mind,” Meg's soft 
voice broke in. 

“ No, madam.” Jake had resumed his quiet tone. 
“ No ! My mind has been so firmly fastened to this 
purpose, only dissolution can release it. And,” with 
a shrug, “ it has gone on so long that I am only fit 
for driving and dreaming — or shooting redskins,” he 
finished with a laugh that had in it no amusement. 
And then, the team being ready, climbed to his seat, 
reaching down to help up Meg, while DePew seating 
himself at her other side, and the inside passengers 
taking their places, the coach recommenced its 
journey. 

They had ridden some distance, the green willows 
of the station lost to view behind the sand hills, and 
the moon, with a luster unknown to less pure atmos- 
pheres, shining upon them before Jake again spoke. 

“ This air is glorious ! ” his voice had something of 
enthusiasm in it, and his eyes had lost their gloom. 
“ Perhaps, Mr. DePew, it is impossible for you, who 
have been reared in a city, to understand what these 
great plains are to us. This desert, as it may seem 
to others, to us is but breathing space. Here we are 
like the untamed eagles. Free ! Lords of all we 
survey! While in a city, what would I be ? Nothing! 
Just a worthless fellow, hardly fit for a hostler! 
No ! keep to your life. With your wife and perhaps 
the children who will come, life is altogather differ- 
ent for you. But I thank you, and you, madam. 
Long after you have forgotten me, I will sit on my 
driver’s box, and dream of you both.” 


ADKENI'UjRES on the road. 41 

^‘We will not forget you, Jake,” said DePew, and 
then they were silent, each thinking, until Meg grad- 
ually fell asleep. 

How long she slept she did not know, wakening 
with a start as she heard men’s voices, and looking 
down on the roadside she saw a horseman with a 
rifle slung before him. 

He was much excited, rising in his stirrups, and 
pointing backward as he spoke : 

“ ’Bout twenty on ’em. ’Scaped from the agency. 
Some squaws, all drinkin’, an’ bent on deviltry.” 

“ Did you see them ? ” asked Jake. 

“ See ’em ? No ! I was too derned anxious ter 
git home,” with which words he bade “good-by,” 
put spurs to his horse, hurrying along the road they 
had come. 

Meg looked at her husband. Her heart beating 
with affright, changed to pitiful love as she saw the 
stern anxiety in his face. 

He was thinking of her, for he took her hand, 
holding it with fierce tenderness as he scanned the 
horizon. He was looking for that foe to whom 
woman’s sex and helplessness is the incentive to 
crimes before which murder sinks to nothingness. 

Jake too, was looking about him. There was on 
his face an easy confidence, almost a smile as he said 
under his breath : 

“Twenty! I can manage half. Twenty! They’ll 
be a nice troop to send to the devil.” 

Meg shuddered at his words. 

“ O Lord,” she prayed in her soul, so earnest in 
the prayer that she knew not her whispered words 
were audible. “ O Lord, protect us from the sav- 
ages and protect them from us. Save us from mur- 
der, O Lord ! ” 

“ Murder,” said Jake bitterly. “ Would you think 
it murder, madam, to kill a deadly cobra? No cobra, 
no beast, is half so brutally cruel as these Indians ! 
Live amon^ them for years, as I have done, and you 


42 


CAI.AMITV JANE^ 


will not sentimentalize over them. \ou will not 
pray for them ! You will stoop, as I do, for youf 
rifle, take your aim, and killing them, feel that for 
such devils, a bullet is the only prayer.” 

As he spoke he reached for his rifle, when the 
satisfaction vanished from his face, his eyes widened, 
and into them came despair. 

“Not there!” he hoarsely whispered. “Not 
there 1 I have forgotten it ! ” 

He sprang to his feet, holding still to the reins, as 
onward hurried the horses. Standing, as he gazed 
backward, while upon his face there came that look, 
which might rise to a shipwrecked sailor. 

“ Forgotten it ! O fool ! Driveling idiots That 
I should forget the only thing which has never be- 
trayed me.” 

He struck his head with his clenched fist, and still 
muttering, retook his seat. 

After a moment DePew spoke : 

“Jake,” he said quietly, though his face was still 
sternly anxious and his hand held Meg’s as if noth- 
ing but death could part them, “ Jake, you under- 
stand the Indians. What is best for us to do? Is 
it safer to go on, or turn back ? ” 

“There’s no safety either way, sir. Unarmed 
anywhere, and we are at their mercy. As for turn- 
ing back, that’s impossible. I have the mail, I must 
carry it.” Then seeming to rouse himself from his 
despair, Jake went on: “Unless you are better 
armed than I am, we have a poor chance. But I 
have seen much accomplished by a determined re- 
sistance. As it’s a choice between deaths,, I’ll resist. 
And if I can’t shoot a devil or so, I’ll strangle at least 
one before I lose my hold on life.” He laughed to 
himself, giving DePew’s hand a grip when he reached 
it out, saying: 

“I’ll resist too, Jake, for I have here what is 
dearer than life. Come ! let us make our plans. You 
command. I’ll obey every order but i that which 


ADVENTURES ON THE ROAD. 


43 


might expose to danger my beloved wife,” and 
DePew kissed Meg's hand tenderly, whispering to 
her a word of courage. . 

She needed cheer, for during these moments of ex- 
citement she had turned so pale that in the moon- 
light she looked as if carved of marble. She did not 
speak, however, did not move, simply listened to the 
plan between Jake and her husband, a plan whose 
end and aim was her protection. But what would 
her protection be if he were killed ? He who made 
up the sum of her life ! Her heart was bursting 
with the thought, while the two men were calmly 
discussing the situation and settling their arrange- 
ments. Jake’s call to the interior of the coach as to 
what arms were held by the passengers, telling them 
it was possible they might meet a party of runaway 
Indians, elicited only groans from the men, cries 
from the women, and screams from children, who, 
not old enough to understand, yelled because of the 
general confusion. 

“ Hush, instantly ! Quietl ” Jake commanded, 
“ Or your noise will bring the savages upon you, 
whereas if they believe there is a party of men 
aboard, and not cowards, we may escape.” 

At these words the noises sank to confused moans 
and groans, which on the driver’s further command, 
“ Silence ! ” were finally stilled. 

Then he learned that the only weapons inside the 
coach were one old rifle, a clasp-knife apiece to the 
men, and a pair of scissors belonging to a woman who 
called out with a sob, “ I’ll keep ’em. They’re sharp 
enough to kill my chillern an’ me ef the Injuns do 
come.” Whereat the children set up a howl, and Meg 
in her tender heart prayed more earnestly than before. 

“And you have a pistol and a knife,” said Jake, 
looking at them as DePew held them out. “ Not 
much against the good rifles the government pro- 
vides for the agency. Still, they are better than 
nothing. Are you a good shot ? ” he asked. 


44 


CALAMITY JANE. 


“ No,” said DePew, ‘‘ barely passable. 

“Then,” said Jake, “ if you agree. Til take the 
pistol, give you my knife,” producing a long sharp 
knife which had been somewhere thrust in his boot, 
“ and your clasp-knife give to your wife.” 

With trembling fingers Meg took the knife. Jake 
examined the pistol, thrust it in his breast, and 
DePew held his knife on the side furthest from his 
wife. 

“ Now, sir,” said Jake, “ the odds in our favor are, 
that the Indians have a superstition against attack- 
ing the United States Mail. They are natural cow- 
ards, and always like to see their enemy before fight- 
ing them. The leathers being all securely fastened^ 
they can not see inside the coach, and if those fools 
will only keep still they may fancy soldiers are 
aboard. Then, too, they know me and my rifle. All 
these things considered, they may let us pass. But 
if not, ril first shoot the horses, make a barricade of 
their bodies, fire eveiy shot, kill as many as I can, 
and then rush out. Each man who dares will follow 
me, and perhaps by the sudden onslaught we can 
put the band to flight. If we fail, and are killed, 
the women must each take her own life. For those 
who believe in a hereafter, it is better to send their 
souls to their God than to trust their bodies to an 
Indian.” 

Jake had spoken in a matter-of-fact tone, keeping 
his eyes fixed on his horses, as one who simply stated 
facts, and placed them before his hearers as unavoid- 
able necessities. 

DePew recognized them as such, and though he 
caught his breath and clenched his teeth at the pos- 
sibility of Meg’s being forced to such a death, there 
was no alternative. 

But Meg, gentle, trembling Meg, would not so 
take it. 

“ Husband, I can die. If it be God’s will, I can 
submit to any fate. But I can not commit crime. I 


ADVENTURES ON THE ROAD. 45 

can not take the life He has given me. It is His, to 
do with as He wills'! ” 

Her voice hardly rose to a whisper, yet it reached 
Jake’s ears. He turned sharply toward her as 
DePew put his arms about her, pressing her to 
his side. 

“ Not your life! ” cried Jake. “Then sure, as you 
now live I’ll take it and send your soul to a better 
place than an Indian’s vile arms. I’ll stand the crime, 
and think it a virtue. Would you not prefer it, 
sir?” 

“ Yes,” said DePew. 

And close to him Meg felt the shudder that shook 
his body as he spoke. 

The moon was slowly sinking to rest as the coach 
came to a short steep hill before which, being a heavy 
pull, the horses were allowed to breathe, for they had 
traveled good thirty miles, and were nearing the end 
of their trip. During this moment’s quiet, Jake said 
to DePew : 

“At the foot of this hill is a deep creek. The 
willows about it would form an excellent ambuscade 
for the redskins. And atop of the hill that rises on 
the other side, stands the cabin of Dick Long. If 
the Indians are really on the war-path, they have 
probably murdered the Longs. They are a worthy 
family. He trying to make a ranch out here in the 
wilderness, and she bringing up her children the 
best she knows how. But what is this to Indians ? 
Just because they are peaceable people, they will be 
killed and their cabin burned. We will see its em- 
bers on the rise. If we do, prepare ! For once tast- 
ing blood the savages grow wild, and will not, 
probably, spare the mail. Therefore, we will expect 
them.” 

Then calling to the passengers inside : 

“Silence! Remember your lives depend on it,” 
Jake tightened the reins and the horses began the 
ascent. 


46 


CALAMITY JANE. 


On the summit he held them in, leaning forward 
trying to pierce the darkness with his great eyes, and 
with strained ears to glean something from the still- 
ness. For, except the rushing of the waters, every 
thing was perfectly quiet, and, had the Indians de- 
stroyed the rancher’s family, they must have spared 
the cabin ; for not a glimmer of light was visible. 

“ They were seen about here. I can not under- 
stand,” Jake muttered to himself, and then to 
DePew : 

“We will dash on, sir, the sooner the suspense is 
ended the better. See to your wife!” with which 
words of caution he raised his whip, cut tl]^ horses 
fiercely, and, taking his foot off the brake, down 
rushed the team crowded on by the heavy stage. 
Through the water they dashed, sending it in show- 
ers up to Meg’s face, and with the impetus gained, 
up they ran to the top of the other hill. Where, 
panting, Jake reined them in to speak to a woman 
who, with a baby on her breast, and with several 
little ones clinging to her, stood in the cabin door, 
holding a candle above her head. This peaceful 
picture after their terrible fears, brought a sob of 
gratitude from Meg’s heart. 

“Thank God!” she murmured. Her husband’s 
solemn “Amen ! ” having in it more fervor than he 
had ever before experienced. 

“ I’m glad you are safe, Mrs. Long,” Jake was say- 
ing. 

“ Yes, for this time,” answered the woman. “I 
have been on the look-out for you, Jake. I thought 
you’d be anxious. Wasn’t the road lonesome with- 
out a light ? Curious Injuns should have changed 
their minds. They was jest a makin’ fer this place, 
when, all of a suddent, they turned tail an’ made 
fer the north. But we was ready fer ’em this time. 
The boys came down from t’other ranches, our 
goods were moved inter the cellar, and the rifles 
jest awaitin’ to make them -howl.” 


ADVENTURES ON THE ROAD. 47 

“Where are the men, now? ” asked Jake. 

“ Four on 'em is a follerin’, and t'other four is 
standin' guard, 'cause who ken tell if the snakes won't 
creep back agen." 

“ Perhaps they found out you were prepared," 
said Jake, thoughtfully. 

“ Perhaps so," answered the woman. “ But I ain't 
too glad. Fer we was jest good an' ready fer once." 

And she laughed, as if an Indian attack was 
a kind of joke, when one was “ good and ready." 

How strange the laugh sounded to Meg, whose 
nerves were yet a-throb with excitement. And just 
as strange the woman's parting words : “ Good-by. 
I wish, Jake, yer could stay ter supper, we'se goin' 
ter hev roast pig." 

How could she think of supper, when but so lately 
delivered from such danger? thought Meg, uttering 
fervent Te Deums in her grateful heart. 

But Meg had not lived among the dangers of fron- 
tier life. She was only just entering upon the vicissi- 
tudes of these heroes of the desert who pass through 
such constant strains of nerve, growing by them 
into strong helpfulness and self protection. Perhaps 
if legislators were made to experience some of these 
hardships, these perils, measures of State protection, 
would be more effective and less tardy. 

Long after the ranch of the Longs was left behind, 
and the lonely, silent plains, without one moving 
object, surrounded them, did Jake meditate on the 
strangeness of the Indians not having attacked the 
rancher's cabin. 

“ I have never known them to give up the pleas- 
ure of destroying a family, and though I suggested 
to Mrs. Long they might have been aware of their 
re-enforcements, I hardly believe it." 

“ Perhaps," said Meg, softly. “ Perhaps God heard 
my prayers even though unworthy." 

At these gentle words Jake burst into a bitter 
laugh. He stopped hurriedly and begged her pardon. 


48 


CALAMITY JANE. 


Begged her to forgive his rudeness ; “ But, he said, 
“ I have seen and heard prayers prayed, when a 
heart of stone would be touched, yet no answers 
came. No, no; pretty as the illusion is, madam, it 
is but an illusion. The most probable solving of 
the mystery is, that the Indians were out of ammu- 
nition, and have only delayed the murder of the 
Longs.” 

Then, after a moment’s silence, he turned again to 
Meg, and more humbly then he had yet spoken, 
said : 

“Yet you may be right, madam, and I wrong. 
The mysteries your faith spans, the enigmas it solves, 
must ever be mysteries and enigmas to me. I trust 
you will always keep your faith, for without it, the 
heart grows bitter, and life almost unendurable. 
And I trust, also, that you have forgiven my rude- 
ness. The laugh was not of enjoyment, I assure 
you ; nor of ridicule.” 

“ I have forgiven you,” said Meg. “And I will 
pray for you,” she added. 

“ Thank you, madam,” Jake replied, not speaking 
again until the next station was reached, which was 
the end of his drive. 

An hour after midnight they parted from him, the 
new driver being seated on the box when DePew 
and his wife came out from the station where they 
had gone for a cup of coffee and to warm by the 
fire. 

On the ground, holding a lantern and waiting to 
see them off, Jake had grown diffident again. 

“ It is queer,” he said, “ how different I feel when 
I am down here, or up there. But in either place 
I’ll remember you, sir, with the greatest pleasure I 
have known for years.” He wrung DePew’s hand, 
“And you, madam,” with a bow to Meg. 

“We will remember you, too, Jake,” said DePevv, 
“ and our invitation to you. It holds good, does it 
not, Meg?” 


ADVENTURES ON THE ROAD. 


49 


“Yes! good! I have another reason now for 
wanting you to join us. I want to convert you.” 

This, with Meg’s sweetest smile, was a very 
charming remark, and quite drove the gloom out of 
Jake’s eyes. 

He bowed, smiled, raised his hat to her as she 
climbed to the driver’s box, looking almost hand- 
some as he replied : 

• ‘ If ever I am induced to leave this life, it will be 
by the hope of your success, madam.” 

Crack went the whip, off went the coach, the chill 
breeze bringing such sleepiness to Meg, that after 
several narrow escapes from tumbling off her ele- 
vated position, her husband proposed a change to 
the interior of the coach, which proposition being 
accepted by two of the stage passengers, sleepy Meg 
went inside, and with her head on DePew’s breast, 
prepared herself for a cozy nap. 


CHAPTER IV. 


“ HALT ! ” 

A S comfortably placed as it was possible to be in . 

the jogging coach, Meg could not sleep. The 
change from the outside air, which had been so 
soothing, to this close atmosphere, was stifling. 
And how some one was snoring ! with such sudden 
snorts they set Meg’s teeth on edge. Then the baby j 
that she had noticed began to fret ; so, after a little, 
softly withdrawing herself from DePew’s arms, who , 
himself was sound asleep, she struck a match and 
took a survey of her fellow-travelers. ! 

In all sorts of awkward positions they slumbered, 
utterly regardless of the comical ugliness of their 
opened mouths. In one corner, with her children 
leaning on her, a great, fat, greasy-looking man 
lopping over her, crowding her with his weight, 
the tired mother was asleep. The only other wake- 
ful passenger Meg found was the baby. The little 
fellow changed his fretting to crowing as he saw 
Meg’s lighted taper, holding out his arms, when she 
coaxed him to her. She blew out the waxen taper, 
after having taken him and seeing the sleeping 
mother fall into a rhore comfortable position. And 
then, softly humming to Mr. Baby, and tenderly 
coddling him, she soon felt his little body rest warm 
on her breast, and caught his soft sleeping breath 
on her cheek. 

On joggled the coach, louder snored the passen- 
gers. But they did not disturb DePew, nor the 
baby in Meg’s arms. After awhile the snores 


^ halt: 


51 


became indistinct, for Meg, leaning against DePew's 
shoulder, slept with the rest. 

She was awakened by a sudden jolt, as the word 
“ Halt ! ” was called in a clear voice, and the stage 
came to a stand-still. 

“What's it?” “What’s the matter?” “The 
Injuns ! ” “ Oh, my baby ! ” were cried out simul- 

taneously. 

“ Here is your baby, safe and well ! I will keep 
him. Look after the others. Hush,” Meg whis- 
pered, as she leaned toward the mother, “ the road 
agents are here. Hide what you can — ” 

But before Meg could finish, or answer her hus- 
band’s “Meg, are you all right?” a lantern was 
flashed through the open door of the stage, its light 
shining on a pistol leveled at the passengers by a 
masked man, who called : 

“Out quick! Up with your hands! Who hesi- 
tates will be shot ! ” 

The result was great consternation and instant 
obedience. The greasy-looking man who had been 
crowding the tired mother, being out among the 
first, shivering and moaning to himself. Meg, the 
woman with her children, and DePew, were the last 
in the line. The agent replied with a gruff “ Hum ! ” 
to Meg’s “ We can’t hold up our hands, we are hold- 
ing children.” And then saying to the mother, who 
had taken in her arms a child about three years, and 
was trying to quiet his crying, “ Stop the brat’s 
noise,” moved off to the first of the long line of 
passengers with their hands high above their heads. 

Quickly he searched every pocket, while two men 
with rifles pointed stood ready to fire at the slight- 
est resistance. A fourth was at the horses’ heads, 
and a fifth, wearing a long cloak that reached to his 
feet, was overhauling the mail-sack, tossing the 
valuable parcels on a blanket that had been spread 
upon the ground. 

These five were the only ones visible, yet, so sur- 


52 


CALAMITY JANE. 


rounded was the spot by low sand hills, that a legion 
of robbers could be conveniently hidden. 

Possibly it was this consideration that made the 
fifteen passengers quietly submit to be overhauled 
by the masked agent. 

He was not finding much, however, and conse- 
quently was swearing to himself, when the 
agent with the cloak, having finished with the 
mail, came to his side, giving him the benefit of his 
lantern, as the greasy-looking man was reached. 
Protesting, groaning, imploring, he too had nearly 
been passed, when the small robber, so thoroughly 
cloaked that nothing of his figure was visible, said 
with a laugh : 

Off with his boots ! The old reprobate has it — 
somewhere.” 

“ Oh ! oh ! oh !” cried the victim to this order, 
falling on his knees and imploring that his boots be 
not touched. 

“ Off with them, I say ! ” ordered the searcher, 
while the small robber at his side laughed heartily. 
“Off! or — ” The robber raised his hand, click, 
click, went the two rifles, steadied for better aim, 
and immediately, 

“ Stop ! ” cried the unfortunate, “ I gives up,” 
while down on the ground, off came the boots ; 
from which, on being shaken, there fell two rolls of 
greenbacks. “Oh! don’t take it all! Not all! 
Jest leave me a little ! ” whined the robbed, the tears 
actually trickling down his dirty face, until the small 
agent, ceasing his laughter, called, “ Up on your 
feet! or Pll have you stripped and searched.” Up 
sprang the victim, so nimbly, that the other pas- 
sengers laughed. Stoically submitting to being 
“ gone through” without a comment, they had seen 
their watches, chains, gold rings and money tossed 
on the blankets. Any valueless article was returned 
with a graceful bow by the cloaked agent, who 
seemed the commander of the robbers. They 


*^HALTr S3 

i 

i yielded to him, even at his command relinquishing 
)a pocket-book that the mother of the baby Meg 
held, took from her bosom when the agent reached 
her. 

“ It’s all I have,” she said. “ Take it if you are 
mean enough to rob a working woman.” 

“ I guess we’re working too,” the agent replied, 
as he tossed the pocket-book to the blanket, but he 
of the cloak caught it in his hand. 

“ Allow me,” he said, giving it back to its owner. 
“ We are workers, and risk something, but we are 
not women and mothers.” 

The searcher moved, as if to expostulate, but 
when the other called “ Next,” he went on. He 
was not pleased, however, grumbling to himself as he 
obeyed. Meg caught the words, “ Burned soft on 
women,” and trembled a little, for her husband 
was the next, and then she came. 

Her hand went up for her money, ready on the 
instant to surrender it. She was almost on the 
point of doing so now. Since DePew’s appearance 
being so superior to those about him, the agent 
seemed determined to find something more than 
the few dollars taken from him ; saying contemptu- 
ously : 

“ If such a ^ toney chap ’ hasn’t more than this, 
we might as well retire from the profession.” 

Again the passengers laughed. But Meg saw 
there was no amusement in her husband’s eyes. He 
was biting away at his mustache, always with him 
a sign of impatience. Still, bound by his promise, 
he offered no resistance. Perhaps nothing he had 
ever done, so thoroughly proved his love for her, 
since for a brave, high-spirited man, his position was 
humiliating in the extreme. 

When even his boots were shaken and nothing 
found, the searcher turned to the agent next him, 
whispering, “ You see how it is I all risk and little 
gain. If you’d only let us take everything.” 


54 


CALAMITY JANE, 


“ Pshaw ! Don’t be a miser ! We’ve done pretty 
well,” was the answer. 

Low as both spoke, Meg heard the words. She 
saw too that the cloaked agent passed his hand 
through the other’s arm, and led him away from 
where, with the sleeping baby on her breast, she had 
stood in trembling expectancy. 

She caught the relieved expression on her hus- 
band’s face, as the lantern’s light flashed on it, and 
was thanking heaven in her grateful heart, when 
with a venom that made the other passengers hiss, 
the greasy man called out : “ ’Tain’t fair. Women 

has no more right ter keep their money than men 
has. She ain’t got no children ! That baby ain’t 
hern. P’raps if yer searched yer’d find the ‘ toney 
chap’s ’ money on her. She’s his wife.” 

“ Is that your game? Loose me ! quickly!” the 
searcher pulled away from the agent at his side. 
“ Here, my beauty 1 ” he reached for Meg’s shoulder, 
her husband threw him back, and standing before 
his wife had nearly fallen dead at her feet — would 
surely have done so, but the cloaked agent, knowing 
what would follow, threw up in the air the well- 
aimed rifles. 

“ Bang ! Bang ! ” Their balls flew out, and some- 
where on the desert fell harmless ; while with cloak 
thrown aside, and his slight person interposed be- 
tween the husband and the robbers, whose rifles 
were again pointed at them, the agent called — 

“Boys, this lady is a friend of mine. You can’t 
touch her without killing me ! ” 

There was a moment’s hesitation — a moment 
when the robbed passengers seemed inclined in this 
emergency to rally around Meg with the wailing 
baby in her arms. 

“Fools!” the agent who had protected the 
DePews turned to the passengers, “ do you want all 
to be killed? Leave this to me.” Then to the 
four robbers whose weapons still covered him, 


HALT. 


55 


Friends, let us pass,” he said ; and drawing Meg’s 
’land in his arm, he turned his back where two rifles 
( ind two pistols, in the hands of desperate men, 
threatened his life. 

His life only ; for he had whispered DePew, “ Pre- 
cede us,” and Meg noticed that, though he held her 
hand in his arm, he so walked that she was covered 
by his body. 

He placed her in the coach, saying to DePew, 
“ You get in the stage. There are two fellows there 
savage as bloodhounds,” adding, impatiently, as 
DePew hesitated, “ Get in, unless you would have me 
shot.” And then, when at Meg’s imploring “ Love, 
come ! ” DePew seated himself at her side, the agent 
finished, with a laugh, “I’d not be the first com- 
mander killed by his men.” He was turning away, 
when DePew stopped him with the words — 

“ My name is Charles DePew. In protecting my 
wife you have placed me under an obligation I 
should like in some way to repay.” 

" “Ah! Mr. DePew!” The agent bowed. “lam 
pleased to know your name, though, if you will ex- 
cuse me. I’ll not return the compliment. As for the 
obligation,” laughing softly, “ it is pleasant some- 
times to be a creditor.” 

He stepped back, watched a moment when 
' DePew stood up to help the woman with her children 
into comfortable seats, and flashing his lantern on 
Meg’s face, caught her eyes, lifted his mask so she 
alone could see him, and, laughing, blew a kiss to her. 

At her amazed “ Oh ! ” her husband turned. 

“ Charles,” she whispered, “ he is the boy of the 
■ supper station. See ! ” 

. But, though DePew looked quickly, the cloaked 
figure had already disappeared. 

With the other robbers, he seemed to have sunk 
somewhere behind the sand hills. For the retaking 
of their seats and helping in the women and children 
could not have occupied more than five moments of 


CALAMITY JANE. 


56 

time, yet robbers and plunder had all vanished, the 
stage-coach and its passengers having the desert to 
themselves. 

“ We’d as well start,” said the driver ; and the 
passengers showed their assent by hurrying into the 
coach. There were a few moments’ general 'con- 
versation, from which, however, the greasy man was 
excluded. 

“ We want nothin’ to do with a blabber on women,” ! 
said one of the passengers. To this sentiment the 
others heartily responding, ‘the whining fellow 
had to retire into a corner and groan to himself. I 

He kept on groaning until Rapid City was reached, j 
where breakfast being prepared, and an hour’s rest ] 
allowed, Meg had an opportunity to look at the few i 
poor houses that, calling themselves by such an am- i 
bitious name, were huddled together as closely as 
possible, as if fearful of the mighty desert on whose 
borders they were established. 


CHAPTER V. 


“ HO ! FOR DEADWOOD ! ” 

M orn was just tipping with her rosy fingers the 
gray of the sky when Meg climbed to the seat 
on the driver’s box and looked ahead on the road 
they were to travel. 

Far in the distance a dark line marked the mount- 
ains, whose heavy timbers of cedar and pine had 
given them their name, The Black Hills. 

“ Almost there, dear,” she said to DePew, and her 
smile was bright as the day. She was light of heart, 
for the woman with the children had found a friend 
with the landlady of the station. She had .whis- 
pered to Meg when she kissed the baby good-by — 
Tm in luck, miss. I’ve been offered the place of 
cook. Fifty dollars a month, and children no ob- 
jection. Then, too, my husband’s working in this 
camp. The keeper of the station knows him. He 
deserted us, but women is scarce here, and perhaps 
he’ll come up to time. If he don’t. I’ll not break 
my heart, for I can support my children and lay by 
money.” 

To Meg it was a pitiful tale compressed in a 
few words. But Meg was too tender. The woman 
herself saw only the bright side of it, and so, after a 
little, Meg’s pity changed to congratulation. 

“ I am glad you are contented,” she said. 

‘‘That I am!” the woman answered. 

So Meg, starting on her journey, felt all the lighter 
of heart that the baby and its mother had found a 
home. 

The country grew more beautiful as they ad- 


58 


CALAMITY JANE. 


vanced. Surrounded with pretty mosses and ferns, 
springs bubbled up. Little streams glistened in 
the sunlight, between groves of birch and willow ; 
and nearing the hills the various trees with lighter 
foliage brightened the darkness of the evergreens. 

Once among the hills, Meg was enraptured by 
the wonderful variety of wild flowers that sent up 
their rich perfume as the stage passed under the 
great boughs of pines arching overhead. 

“ This is a paradise ! ” she exclaimed. But soon 
the pretty rills and clear streams lost their beauty, 
running red and thick with the dirt which man’s 
greed and industry sent piling up in little hills, bury- 
ing the flowers, disfiguring the land, as they washed 
out their gold. 

Turning into Deadwood Gulch the driver became 
animated, pointing out there a hole where men had 
taken out a cool ten thousand ; here a claim where 
three partners had found enough to buy five thou- 
sand head of cattle ; and “ Look ! ” he cried, “ look 
at that cabin,” pointing to a low, blackened log- 
building that Meg had imagined might have been 
used as a pig-sty ; “ Out o’ thet cabin Jim and Ned 
walked carrying from the country one hundred thou- 
sand thet they’d found right than” He waved his 
hand across a piece of dark earth that was fairly 
honeycombed with holes ; earth pitched into heaps 
that with its lonely cabin looked like a field of des- 
olation, and not a gold mine. 

“And yet I suppose flowers once bloomed here ! ” 
said Meg. 

But no one heard her, not even her husband. He 
had caught the gold fever; caught it from the busy 
workers toiling in the gulch ; caught it from the 
tents pitched on the mountain side ; from the very 
teamsters, cracking their whips and trying to out- 
strip each other in hastening toward the center of 
this gold excitement. 

Deadwood itself was a beehive of industry. The 


HO ! FOR DEAD WOOD / 


59 


Chinamen, who find their way everywhere, were 
here in droves, all busily working at the placers. 
The very streets ‘of the town were dug up by the 
eager searchers for gold. And the wagons crowded 
so thick together that the stage, with the United 
States Mail and all the passengers, had to wait in 
patience until after considerable and renewed effort 
the heavily-laden teams were sufficiently advanced to 
permit it to draw up before the hotel. 

Bands were outplaying each other, horsemen and 
horsewomen, too, were threading their way through 
the crowded street, as helped down by her husband, 
for a bewildered moment, Meg looked about her. 
It was a relief when a white jacketed darkey 
snatched their satchels from under the feet of the 
pedestrians with a polite : 

Jest follow me ! '’ pointing to the open door of 
the frame building that had been hastily put up for 
the “ leading hotel.” 

To follow the ebony gentleman was the only pos- 
sible thing to do, for the throng on the sidewalk, 
stopping to gaze on a woman, she was very well 
pleased to seek a shelter. 

“ Did you ever see so many people?” she said to 
her husband, who had accompanied her to the small 
upper room used as a “ hotel parlor.” “ It seems to 
me as if all the world were crowded into this gulch. 
And listen to the bands. Why, Charles, there must 
be a circus in town ! ” 

“Not a circus, my girl, but gambling saloons!” 
Those bands help to allure idlers in to lose their wits 
and their money. They are the curses of mining 
towns! See! we have one just opposite.” Then 
he left her to arrange for rooms. Out on the bal- 
cony Meg saw several of these saloons ornamented 
with mirrors, while gayly played the bands, and into 
them poured men, and even boys. 

No longer pleased with the crashing music, she 
looked sadly down on the thronged streets. Shud- 


6o 


CALAMITY JANE. 


dering, when with hair streaming in the wind, with 
young faces daubed with paint, some girls rode by, 
her womanhood blushing and mourning for her 
fallen sisters. 

“ And only children ! she said to herself. With 
tears in her heart, she re-entered the small parlor 
and met her husband. He was coming for her ac- 
companied by the, polite darkey who, smiling from 
ear to ear, informed her that De lady’s apartmen’ 
am jest ready, an’ de dinner ain’t quite frough.” 

The apartment consisted of one room, so small 
that when their modest trunk was stored away in it 
there was not space for both DePew and Meg to 
stand on the fraction of floor left by the bed and 
washstand. 

But they very soon accommodated themselves to 
this, for who objects to be crowded by one he loves? 
The apparent discomforts of their tiny chamber were 
cause for mirth to these two who were so mutually 
dear. 

“ Remember, Meg, the partitions are only of 
sheeting,”- DePew said warningly, as they grew 
merry together. 

His warning anticipated the voices of the other 
guests of the hotel, who, less loving and more care- 
less, quarreled their quarrels, and had their discus- 
sions, regardless of their neighbors’ ears. 

In a few days DePew had hung out his shingle, 
and regularly commenced the practice of the law. 
But unaccustomed to mining camps and mining 
sharks, he believed all the rough fellows who came 
for advice w'ere honest. 

He believed, too, that his fees were in no danger ; 
so, while he was continually busy, he made little or 
no money; for when the cases were tried clients had 
either, in mining parlance, “ Skipped the camp,” or 
pleading poverty, begged for time. 

The law practice in Deadwood was a different 
matter from the same business in New- York, where 


HO! FOR DEADWOOD 6i 

the clients of Charles M. DePew were among the 
most prominent citizens. There young DePew had 
been reckoned a sharp shrewd fellow, sure of making 
his way. He had thought this of himself, and was 
now rather taken aback when at the end of a 
month of constant occupation, he found his capital 
considerably dwindled, and was unable to collect 
any of the several outstanding debts. 

Still he was not discouraged, being by nature 
buoyant and self confident. 

“ Besides, they’ve not all been rogues,” he said 
to Meg, when seated side by side on the edge of 
the bed in their tiny apartment, for which they paid 
such high rates. ‘‘ There’s Oliver ! Nothing could 
be more fair than his plain statement at the outset, 
that he had no money, but if Td take the case and 
win it, I should have half. Coming with the deed 
too, all drawn up and acknowledged. He is a 
regular old trump, and we’ll win, Meg, I am sure of 
it. Then my girl you’d be a rich woman. By the 
by, I think you’ll better not wait for the fortune 
before buying something pretty. There’s a dear, 
go and get a silk. Keep up your appearance with 
the rest of the women.” 

But on this Meg was obstinate. The month 
which for her husband had been passed in unprofit- 
able business had not been an unpleasant month to 
her. For while she had suffered and blushed at the 
sights of the streets, she had made some pleasant 
acquaintances among the wives and daughters of 
those whose adventurous spirits had brought them 
to Deadwood. Her husband’s profession, and her 
own appearance commending her, the fashionables 
of Deadwood had called upon Meg, taking her into 
their set. If any one should doubt the existence of 
fashion in this remote camp, he should see the 
numbers of elegantly attired women who sent in 
their cards to “ Mrs. DePew,” as they made the 
parlor of the .hotel fairly blaze with their diamonds, 


62 


CALAMITY JANE. 


It was not their jewels nor their costumes that 
attracted Meg ; but that each and all, had some 
history whose romance added its interest to her. 
One coming to the camp, had been captured by the 
Indians, and rescued, just in time to save her life. 
Another to join her husband had traveled the 
whole distance alone ; another had helped him make 
his fortune, and so on until Meg felt herself sur- 
rounded by heroines, whose adventures would fill a 
library. 

Of her own adventures she did not speak. Did 
not even tell of the gallant road agents, nor of the 
friends she had made. That she was modest, rarely 
spoke of herself, and was at all times more ready to 
listen than to talk, commended her to the ladies. 
Some of them actually feeling sufficient interest in 
her to urge her, that now was her time to make her 
husband buy jewels for her. And thus that much 
might be saved from the rapid losses that generally 
follow upon the quick gains of the mining camps. 

But Meg only shook her pretty head as she 
thanked them for their kindness. “ I do not care for 
jewels,” she said, “ besides since I see money so 
lavishly spent and so woefully wasted, it does not 
seem of such value, and for one, I do not care to be 
rich.” So her visitors had called her a “ dear little 
goose,” had invited her to a “ woman's picnic,” and 
had left her at the window watching them, as they 
entered their carriages and drove away. 

Had left her where she had taken many a sad 
lesson of life, and preached to her own heart many 
a touching sermon, on the worthlessness of the 
money men strive so hard to gain. Where she had 
shed tears too, as she knew the feverish desire for 
wealth was upon her beloved husband, who would 
now never be content with less than a fortune. 

Many a time, as alone she stood by this window, 
had those fair young girls with painted cheeks and 
bared throats ridden by. Riding to their own 


** HO! FOR DEADWOOD ! 


63 


misery more surely and more rapidly than to the 
goal of their race to which they cheered each other, 
and were “hallooed ” on by the men watching and 
applauding them on the main street of Deadwood. 
And from that window had she looked upon the 
gamblers, who wasted in an hour what had taken 
weeks, months to gain, wasted more than their 
money, wasted life and manhood. “ If it were not 
for money, those boys might have remained at 
home with their mothers, those men not have 
wandered away from their families,” Meg would 
think, as sometimes a man, sometimes a boy, went 
into the saloon to trust his all to a turn of the rou- 
lette. 

Therefore when DePew told his wife that instead 
of making money in Deadwood, thus far, he had 
lost, Meg did not feel any grief over it, nor any 
elation at the great prospect DePew saw in Old 
Oliver’s Mine. 

But at his desire that she should make herself 
fine, she became most decided. 

“ No, love, that I will not do; the fashionables 
have seen me as I am, and you will have to con- 
tinue to endure me unimproved,” she said with so 
sweet a smile that had DePew been her lover he 
would certainly have declared she was perfect as she 
was. Being a husband, he probably felt it, but con- 
tented himself with saying he “Was satisfied with 
Mrs. DePew.” 

At which assertion, Mrs. DePew ventured to 
raise her voice in the family conclave, and argued 
her point so cleverly and effectively, that finally her 
husband, after many objections, promised to think 
of it. 

Meg’s plan was a sensible one, showing that her 
young head had not lost its ability to calculate ways 
and means. And to this wise little head it seemed 
great extravagance that they should be boarding at 
a hotel where the prices were in keeping with all the 


64 


CALAMITY JANE. 


other rates in the successful camp, while DePew 
was paying an equally high rent for the small 
house that he had secured for his office, and which 
had two tiny but comfortable rooms that were un- 
used and had not thus far been rented. 

“ I would be much happier there near you than 
here, where the parlor window possesses a fascina- 
tion for me that invariably results in pain,” said 
Meg. 

“ Well, I’ll think of it, Meg,” replied DePew, as 
he went to his office, leaving his wife at the window, 
while the bands played gayly and the lights of the 
opposite saloons shone out in the soft twilight. 


CHAPTER VI. 


DEPEW’S CLIENT." 

T he evening was warm, the saloon crowded, and 
the people still pressing in ; the screen, that 
generally shielded the interior was pushed aside, and 
Meg took her first look into a gambling saloon. 

She started, exclaiming, “Is it possible !" when 
at a long table she saw a woman presiding. 

From face to face she looked with shuddering fas- 
cination. Her eyes rested longest on the young 
face of a boy who, evidently losing, grew desperate. 
She saw him watch the roulette ; saw him pull 'from 
his pocket a pistol, heard the sharp report, and then 
when white and dead they carried him out, 

“ His soul! his soul ! ’’ she cried, and sank fainting 
to the floor. 

Her husband found her thus. Lifting her ten- 
derly, she came to consciousness in his arms. 

How the bands played on ! To her they seemed 
fierce voices calling out for men’s souls. 

“ Charles, darling," she pleaded, when she had 
described what had made her ill, “take me away 
from this place. First I asked it for economy's sake, 
now it is for my peace. I beg you let me stay with 
you and be away from these terrible scenes." 

So the next morning DePew bought the necessa- 
ries for modest housekeeping, and Meg made a home 
out of the tiny rooms back of the oflice, where, 
when busied with clients, she could still hear her 
husband’s voice, know she was near him. 

Occupation was a help to her. It was a help, too, 
to know that each day there was a saving of more 


66 


CALAMITY JANE. 


than half of their former expenses. This saving was 
now very opportune for DePew. His clients w'ere 
not many, and though he had grown more careful in 
collecting fees they did not add any great sum to 
his capital. Unknown among mining men, he had 
to make his reputation in some great suit before 
wealthy companies would employ him. He expected 
to do this when the important case of the “ Bull- 
finch ” came on, and so he spared neither money nor 
time, riding over the country, collecting testimony, 
securing witnesses, overcoming the many difficulties 
that lay between a just cause and a fair decision. 

“ I’ll bring Oliver in to see you, Meg, when he 
comes to-morrow,” DePew had said one evening, 
and the next day, throwing open the door that led 
from the office to the small room used as bedroom 
and sitting-room, he called : 

“ Meg ! ” 

She came from the little kitchen, where the fire 
having given additional color to her cheeks and 
brilliancy to her eyes, she appeared a marvel of beauty 
to the tall, lank old fellow, who, with hat on the back 
of his head and weather-beaten face, looked more 
like pictures of the lone fisherman than a miner, as 
Meg had imagined him. There was a benevolence 
in his eyes, a kindness about the whole rough figure 
that rather surprised Meg, to whom DePew had 
told of some of Oliver’s daring in defense of his 
mine. 

“ How-de-doo ! How-de-doo!” he replied to 
Meg’s greeting, chuckling to himself when she called 
him “ Mr. Oliver,” and turning the quid of to- 
bacco that had stuck out one cheek, as an epicure 
might a choice tid-bit : 

“Ain’t much used ter bein’ mistered,” he said, 
holding out to her a hand rough and hard as horn, 
chuckling again, when finding it impossible to take 
the whole stiff member, Meg compromised by clasp- 
ing two of the immovable fingers, while with head 


DEPEW'S CLIENT." 


( 


67 


on one side and eyes screwed up, as a sailor when 
seeing a new craft, he looked steadily at her. 

“Ain’t much used ter it! No, I ain’t. But the 
women allers hes ter hev their way. Eh, Charley?’’ 
giving DePew a prodigious nudge with his elbow, 
as he laughed outright. 

Suddenly checking the laugh, as if he believed 
himself guilty of some breach of decorum, he in- 
quired in the gravest manner for Meg’s health. 
At which she laughed so merrily, and Oliver’s 
mouth spread out to such an extent, that Meg was 
in terror lest he should lose that great piece of to- 
bacco, as the long wrinkles formed three deep in his 
cheeks. 

“ Ha ! ha ! ha ! ” he shouted, winding up his 
laugh with another lunge at DePew with his elbow, 
and the words, “ Charley, she do look good-natured 
fer a woman — fer a woman.” 

Meg laughed at this. Oliver at once felt himself 
sufficiently at home to move further back on th^ 
chair, of which, when she had placed it for him, he 
had occupied only the edge, doubling up his long 
legs into awkward angles to keep his balance. 

“ Ha ! ha 1 Even old Oliver knows when he 
meets a lady,” he said. Pulling another chair for his 
arms to rest on, and another for his feet, he made 
himself quite comfortable. The neat little cuspi- 
dor Meg placed for his convenience he eyed suspi- 
ciously. But after saying politely “ Thankee, ma’am, 
thankee,” took the greatest care to avoid it, as with 
force and precision he marked up Meg’s clean floor 
with the juice of the pernicious weed that filled his 
mouth. He was so thoroughly enjoying himself, as 
thus with his long body spread over the chairs he 
talked to DePew, occasionally nodding toward 
Meg, that she would not embarrass him by calling 
attention to the uses for which cuspidores were in- 
tended. 

And, having put from her thoughts the annoyance 


68 


CALAMITY JANE. 


I 


all housekeepers would feel, was astonished at the 
force and intelligence with which Oliver stated the 
pros and cons of his case. “ Hurry up the bizness, 
Charley,” he said, after the matter had been dis- 
cussed between them. “Jest hurry it up, fer I hes 
reasons ter b’lieve them fellers is on my ground. 
I’m runnin’ a tunnel ter meet ’em, an’ s’help me Gord, 
ef thar’s a foot taken out o’ my rock, thar’ll be mur- 
der done.” 

In his excitement he sprang to his feet, very tall 
and lank, with upraised hand, and small eyes glitter- 
ing under overhanging eyebrows, he was not one to 
be trifled with. 

All Meg’s pleasure and amusement vanished as 
she looked at him. “ More blood ! ” she thought. 
“ Oh, this fearful money,” and then aloud, with en- 
treaty in voice and face, “ Mr. Oliver, I pray you 
don’t kill a man just for a little gold ! Whoever 
robs you injures himself more than he can injure 
you. And, O, what is money to an immortal 
soul ? ” 

“Well, ma’am,” old Oliver said seriously, “ I don’t 
know much about souls. I hes seen such mean 
doin’s most of my life, that I begins ter think a 
man’s soul must be a tarnal small affair ef it has any 
thin’ ter do with him. As fer money, I take it thet 
my money’s wuth my life, leastways I’ll risk my life 
ter pertect it. Jest as I’d risk my life ter pertect 
any right. So, Charley, jest you hurry on the 
case.” 

The old man had grown too excited to stay in- 
doors. “ No, thankee. No, thankee,” he said, in 
answer to Meg’s invitation to dinner. “ I can’t set 
quiet an’ think them fellers is a runnin’ on my 
ground. Fer, while I don’t know much about souls, 
ma’am, jest the thought o’ them robbin’ me makes 
my blood bile so hot that I’d bust ef I sot in a 
room. It takes the hull mountain side fer me ter 
breathe in when I feels this way.” 


1 


DEPEW'S CLIENT. 


69 


With which words he made his bow, walking 
up the road toward his mine with long strides, that 
soon carried him out of sight. 

DePew did his best to hurry up the case, being 
in court with witnesses already waiting for the trial. 
But law and judges are tedious, and very hard to 
move when might opposes right. So that the de- 
fendants gained a delay, and Oliver left the court- 
room, swearing both “ deep and loud ” against the 
influence of money. The “ Bullfinch ” ledge became 
one of the engrossing topics of Deadwood, and 
many a good joke was cracked over “ Ole Oliver 
holdin’ out above, while them other fellers is takin’ 
it out below." For it was very generally suspected 
that the defendants wanted time for robbery, and 
having gained it, would continue undermining the 

Bullfinch:" 

No outsider was allowed in their workings of the 
grounds that adjoined Oliver's, therefore all was 
hearsay. And as the miners employed by the Still- 
water " Company were ready to swear that their 
employers were on their own ground, when DePew 
prayed for an injunction to prevent the working of 
the contested portion, he had been opposed by 
many witnesses and much testimony. The order to 
have the ground examined, was, upon one techni- 
cality or another, so delayed that Oliver boldly as- 
serted, and DePew believed, that the officer had 
been bought over by the defendants, who had both 
power and wealth. Meanwhile Oliver, rendered 
desperate, worked night and day at his tunnel, and 
DePew, heart and soul in the case, not only gave 
the most of his time to it, but finding his old client 
without money, and with very little “ grub," less- 
ened his dwindling capital by providing him what 
he needed. 

“ We’re in it, and will win. Together enjoying 
the profits, and together sharing the trials," he said, 
when driving Meg out to the “ Bullfinch," with a 


70 


CALAMITY JANE. 


load of provisions, powder, and fuse, they had called 
Oliver from the tunnel where he was at work. 

He came into the daylight his face streaked with 
the soft red dust, that covered his overalls, shirt, 
even his beard. For a moment or so he seemed to 
be staggered by the sight of the things DePew had 
brought. Turning his back to them, and wiping his 
eyes with his hands as he felt the tears rise to them, 
for he had had a hard life, he had found people 
ready to rob him, and was touched by this unex- 
pected kindness. 

Seeing the old man’s emotion, DePew’s generous 
nature spoke. “Yes, Oliver, we are partners. You 
should have told me how low your grub was. I did 
not know it until yesterday. Come, man, take my 
hand, or you will have my wife thinking that you are 
growing savage with me,” said DePew, as old Oliver 
still kept his back to them. 

“Savage with yer! Lord ! Yu is the only friend 
I has ever found! ” exclaimed Oliver. 

The tears were running down his cheeks when 
he faced about and gripped the hand DePew ex- 
tended, and then with a laugh of delight he 
grasped a powder keg, hugging it to his breast. 

“ This is what I wanted. This is what I couldn’t 
git on without. Ah, Charley, my old body warn’t a 
needin’ grub, but down thar in the tunnel I was nigh 
to cryin’ when I knowed the po'wder hed most giv’ 
out, and I’d not a denied cent to buy more.” 

Then seeing Meg’s face, which in its tender beauty 
always showed her heart, Oliver chuckled as he 
wiped his eyes, gleaming sharper than ever just as if 
his tears had washed away any weakness or softness. 

“Yer see, ma’am,” he said, “a mine is somethin’ a 
feller’s heart hangs ter, jest — jest as if it war a woman. 
’Tain’t only thet it brings a power o’ money. No, 
’tain’t that. For though money’s convenient, eh, 
Charley ! ” with a twinkle of his eyes, “ ’specially 
whar thar’s likely ter be a family, yet ’tain’t all 


DEPEW'S CLIENT. 


71 


1 

money. It’s the time, patience, intelligence an’ am- 
bition of a feller. It’s success, ma’am, it’s 
hope, it’s everythin’. Now what ken money do fer 
me ? ” He straightened up as he looked at her. 
“ It can’t make me young an’ han’some. It can’t 
win love fer me. An’ as fer luxuries, a log cabin 
like that, a piece o’ ’backy an’ a pipe, is all the luxu- 
ries I finds use fer. Yet as I stan’s here, a-lookin’ at 
that purty sky, a-seein’ them mountains, andknowin’ 
that I hes arter all foun’ one true man in Charley, 
as I stan’s here, feelin’ this world’s good enough fer 
me, an’ not bein’ one bit anxious ter git ter t’other, 
whar I ain’t acquainted, I swars I’d hold my life 
less’n nothin’ against the possession o’ every foot o’ 
the Bullfinch ground ! No, ma’am ! It ain’t jest 
fer money! It’s fer right ! An’ I’m derned ef I 
ain’t too good a Yankee not to stick up fer my rights.” 

His voice strong and deep, his eyes glistening and 
brightening, and his long arm waving, roused Meg’s 
enthusiasm. 

Standing on the mountain side near the poor lit- 
tle log-cabin where he had wintered, summered, suf- 
fered privations, and all for the ledge that was being 
robbed from him ; even gentle Meg felt her heart 
stir. Felt herself capable of fighting for him and for 
his rights. 

“Come down the incline and jest look at the 
rock,” he said. Holding a candle above his head he 
preceded them as they walked down the incline ; 
stopping every now and then to brush away the 
dust that Meg might see the glitter of the gold. 

“Yer see, ma’am, it’s a-walkin’ through snows 
a-goin’ empty an’ dry, a-hopin’ an’ a-dreamin’, till we 
grows old and worn. An’ then, when arter all, yer 
strikes it I D’ yer think, even you, with all yer soul 
bizness, ’ud give it up ?” 

He looked eagerly in her face as he held the can- 
dle near her. And when she hesitated, caught her 
hand, nearly crushing it in his hard one. 


72 


CALAMITY JANE. 


“ No, yer wouldn’t ! ” he shouted. “ Yer wouldn’t ! 
God bless yer. Yer wouldn’t! Oh, Charley!” 
lunging at him with his elbow, “yer hes done well. 
She ain’t so bad fer a woman. Not so bad.” 

They went to the very end where Oliver was 
working, he talking eagerly all the way, telling how 
between his blows he believed he heard others. 
That he felt sure he would come upon the thieves. 
“An’ then let ’em look out. Fer tho’ this arm is 
nigh ter sixty, it’s good an’ strong, an’ the rifle 
knows me so well it ain’t never e’en missed a mark. 
I guess I’m ekal ter ’em. I calkerlate I am. Tho’ 
ter day, when I stood here a-workin’, my heart felt 
like lead, fer I looks at the powder can an’ knowed 
thar warn’t enough for three more shots. Now jest 
see me ! I’se grow’d young! It’s hope, ma’am, it’s 
hope as makes us fergit.” 

In the light of the setting sun he stood at 
his tunnel’s mouth, waving his long arms to Meg 
and DePew as they rode away from the Bullfinch, 
down the gulch to Deadwood. 

The hill-sides were bright with camp fires, where, 
near their tents, men cooked their evening meal, 
their dark figures weird and uncanny as they bended 
over the flame. 

“They look like magicians conjuring spells,” Meg 
said, and then she thought of Oliver ; of his years 
of labor and wearisome searching, of his disappoint- 
ments, hopes; and when at last there came fruition, 
of this cruel, unjust attempt, to wrest from his old 
hands their hard-won prize. 

“ I wonder,” she thought, as the camp fires and 
the moving figures had new interest for her, “ I won- 
der if all of them are like Mr. Oliver?” 

They drove into the town where lights were flash- 
ing, bands playing, stores ablaze, as in the cities at 
Christmas-tide. Stores with rich goods equal to any 
metropolis, for there must be nothing lacking to 
tempt the extravagance, the self-indulgence of man. 


‘'DEPEW^S CLIENT. 


n 


It was a life of to-day. No future was thought of, 
none prepared for, by the majority of those who 
recklessly threw away the gold gained by fatigue, 
won at great risks. 

To-morrow! There seemed no to-morrow to the 
busy, noisy town that filled the long gulch, to which 
the dead timber lying convenient for building, had 
given its name and determined its location. 

Even to their modest quarters the scene of hurry 
penetrated. DePew internally fretting over the de- 
lay of his suit, and Meg anxious that Oliver should 
soon have his rights, neither was peaceful, nor en- 
tirely content. 

“ Yet,” she said, leaning her head on her husband’s 
shoulder, while they sat before the fire, “ yet, if we 
would but put money out of our minds, if we would 
but go to some tranquil spot, how happy we could 
be, just as we are ! We are both young, both healthy, 
and both loving.” 

“ It is true, Meg,” and her husband put his arm 
about her, holding her to his heart. ^‘True, every 
word of it. But such is man ! With his happiness 
thus in his embrace, he still desires more. Risking 
what he has for the gain of the unnecessary ! Dear 
as you are, tempting as a life of tranquillity may be, 
I could not go to it. At least not until I have made 
what I came here to make — a fortune. Oliver hit it 
when he said it was not money only. It is success 1 
My life and pride are bound up in it.” 

His eyes shone, his face was full of purpose, as 
thus close together, he looked into the fire and 
dreamed ; while she, loving him, prayed in her pure 
heart for the success he desired. 


CHAPTER VII. 

“ THE woman’s picnic.” 

I T was rather a bold idea of Deadwood’s fashion- 
ables, in a town whose women were at such a 
premium, and men in superabundance, to give a fete 
for women only. 

“It’s entirely a one-sided affair,” said some of the 
men, when across Main Street, down one of the 
beautiful canons, passed the procession of women, 
arrayed for a day in the woods. 

Yet such was the respect shown for the sex that 
no one followed ; not even a voice was raised by the 
rough-looking fellows, as the women, all young and 
most of them pretty, turned away from the town. 
The Eastern towns, with all their civilization and 
culture, could hardly boast an equal courtesy ; their 
crowds wo'uld hardly have maintained a silence 
equally respectful. There is something about this 
Western life, whether it is that its toilers live in their 
dreams and memories, or that the very working in 
and nearness to the earth, engenders reverence ; there 
is in it something which make§ the most dissipated 
man hold a modest woman in highest honor. In no 
city is she as safe, and nowhere on the face of the 
earth would an injury to such be so immediately and 
relentlessly punished. 

It is probable the fashionable young women who 
had taken Meg into their set, knew this. Knew, too, 
that Deadwood, with its men, was a protection 
against any wandering Indians. For they ventured 
boldly along the pathless gulch with its beautiful 
ferns, mosses, wild flowers, and trickling stream, up 


‘ ‘ THE WOMAN'S PICNIC. 


75 


to the mountain side, whose trees bore golden leaves, 
now that October’s frost had kissed’them. On they 
climbed, until under the shade of pines, they could 
look far off across lower hills, to the great plains 
bounding this wooded district. Then, seating 
themselves, they discussed their adventures, their 
lunch, and their husbands, all but Meg protesting 
that it was the extremest cruelty of man to bring a 
woman to this dull place, at such a distance from the 
excitement and variety of city life. 

And when, at this, Meg’s silence broke out into a 
musical laugh, a fashionable woman heard her, 
turned sharply, asking: 

“ How is it with you, Mrs. DePew? You surely 
can not endure this existence. Why, do you know, 
that with your golden hair and remarkable eyes, you 
would, in a city, soon become noted for beauty? 
While here ! ” 

The pretty speaker gave a shrug and contemptu- 
ous toss of her head, that, finishing her sentence, 
showed plainly her opinion of Deadwood and its 
society. 

“ Is it so pleasant to be noted ? ” Meg asked, 
archly. “ I can not tell, for I have never been of 
much consequence to any one, but my husband.” 
Then more seriously, “ Nor do I wish to be. Besides,” 
with a charming smile, “ is not beauty a matter of 
opinion ? To me it seems a gift like a flower, which 
comes up because God calls it, to delight the eyes 
of the world. What a foolish flower to feel vanity 
or desire praise, because of something for which it 
is irresponsible ! As for variety and excitement, 
they are, for me, the very faults of Deadwood. And 
adventure ! Why, is not this an adventure ? That 
we, alone, unprotected, dare come at this distance 
from the camp ? That here in freedom, we breathe 
the air of a world, almost alone ! 

Rarely did Meg’s tongue outstrip her timidity. 
But to-day the lovely wild flowers, the bright sky. 


76 


CALAMITY JANE. 


the trees, mountains, all that make the world beau- 
tiful, had sunk into her silent heart so deep, that 
when these very pretty women whom she rather 
admired, had begun to rail at Deadwood, she had 
risen in indignant pretest. It was a very charming 
indignation, too gentle to offend, and only provoking 
laughter among the picnic party. They laughed on, 
until Meg’s cheeks were scarlet with hot blushes, see- 
ing which her neighbor, who was the foremost of 
the party, patted her hand and called her “ an enthu- 
siast. It is a very pretty quality, however, since it 
gives you such roses. But it will not carry you 
through difficulties, teach you to manage your hus- 
band, or brave dangers,” said the lady. 

“ How can you tell that ? ” At this strange voice, 
and the stranger figure that leaning against a tree 
looked down on them, the ladies started in affright, 
some clinging to their neighbors, some springing to 
their feet, and one, more agile than the others, start- 
ing to run,while with great variety of tone and power 
of lungs, a volume of screams rent the air. 

“Stop!” cried the intruder, bringing a would- 
be Atalanta to a stand-still. “ I’ll have no runa- 
ways from this camp. I’m a woman ! What are 
you afraid of? You wanted excitement. I’ve given 
it to you, and as for society, why here’s Calamity 
Jane.” 

She came forward as she spoke, the straight plain 
skirt and long black hair making her look more In- 
dian than white. 

Her dark skin kept up the resemblance to the 
aborigines, but there it ended, for her features were 
delicately pretty, and her blue eyes gave a strange 
expression to her face. 

“ Now,” she said, “ as this is a woman’s picnic I sup- 
pose you can’t object to me. At any rate, object or 
not, I’m here, and,” with determination, “ I intend to 
be treated civilly. You are very pretty.” She looked 
around upon the ladies, who in their fright, really 


‘'THE IVOMAN'S PICNIC.” 


77 


made pretty groups. “ If I were a man any one of 
you would manage me as easily as a bear with a ring in 
its nose. As it is, I intend to manage you. Twenty!” 
Leaning on her rifle she counted them. “Twenty,” 
laughing heartily, she tossed the broad hat on the 
back of her head, still laughing as she glanced from 
face to face. The laugh coming from a pretty mouth, 
showing nice white teeth, was not unlovely as it rang 
out clear and hearty. So hearty that Meg, who was 
nearest her, and who, while equally frightened with 
the others, had that quality of mind which scorns 
cowardice, could not help but laugh too. 

It did seem a very funny thing that twenty active, 
able-bodied young women should be terrified at the 
appearance of one other woman, who, however 
strange her costume might be, with its mannish jacket 
and powder horn slung over her shoulder, certainly 
had no intentions of violence. Just now she seemed 
to feel nothing but amusement, for still leaning on 
the rifle she was convulsed with laughter. Winking 
at Meg in the most fun-provoking way, when Meg’s 
laugh rang out with hers. 

“Funny isn’t it, little one,” she said to Meg, 
“you’re not so frightened as the rest, so perhaps 
you’ll ask me to eat out of your basket. Perhaps 
you ladies don’t know what it is to wander over 
these hills for hours and not get a shot at any game ? ” 
She looked at the others while Meg, spreading a nap- 
kin on the ground, was trying to make appetizing the 
remnants of her lunch. 

She had heard of Calamity Jane whose eccentric- 
ities were so numerous and daring, so remarkable, 
that she was suspected to be in every deviltry 
from robbing trains to playing faro. The ladies who 
now looked askance at the stranger, had told Meg 
what they knew of this character of romance. Had 
wished too to see her, yet when that wish was grati- 
fied, they were like the ghost-seers who would rather 
talk of, than to, the unsubstantial spirits which inter- 


78 


CALAMITY JANE. 


est them. But Calamity Jane was a spirit that would 
talk and be answered too. Commencing: “ Now la- 
dies,” and as their terror abated, the ladies noticed 
what a pleasant voice was Calamity Jane’s, “ I’ll make 
a bargain with you. I know you have money about 
you. I see the jewels in your ears, but if each of 
you will clip me a lock of your hair. I’ll take nothing 
else from you, eat what I need, and departing, leave 

you all in peace! If you do not agree. I’ll ” 

She tapped her rifle, frowned, and then when her 
threatening action had drawn forth a shout of “We 
agree, we agree ! ” politely handed out a pair of scis- 
sors, taking each lock from its donor and counting 
them as she dropped them in her pocket. Then she 
laughed long and heartily, and then with a graceful 
bow said : “ Thanks, ladies ! ” 

Afterward she turned to Meg, toward whom, 
during this compact, she had not looked. But Meg, 
on her knees, having done the best she could with 
her little feast, had been very attentively observing 
Calamity Jane. 

Something about the woman was strangely famil- 
iar to her. Something in the voice, the free graceful 
motions of her body. Yet she had never to her knowl- 
edge seen any one that resembled this dark face 
with its blue eyes, that seemed nearer to merriment 
than wickedness. 

As J ane doffed her hat with the one word “Thanks,” 
to the ladies, Meg uttered an “Ah!” of recognition. 
But when she turned, looking steadily down on her, 
the recognition vanished and only puzzling doubt 
remained, 

“ So you are the enthusiast ! ” said Calamity Jane, 
her rifle across her knees, as she sat beside the lunch 
Meg had spread for her. There was a tender inflec- 
tion to her voice, a brightness in her eyes that made 
Meg believe this strange woman whose age seemed 
about her own, and whose build for all her wild life 
was so delicate, felt an interest in h^r. ’ It was sin- 


‘ ‘ THE IVOiMA .Y'S FICNA:. 


79 


gular that it was so, yet she knew it by one of those 
magnetic communications that are inexplicable. 

“ Thank you,” was Meg’s involuntary exclamation, 
as the woman kept on her those remarkable eyes, 
full of tenderness. 

“ No ! I thank you ! ” said Calamity, and strange 
as it seemed, Meg was sure there were tears in her 
eyes, as she went on, “you are not afraid of me, 
yet yoti told no adventures, and were not seeking 
to manage your husband, nor complaining of him 
as were those others! You are of different stuff. 
You do not show off as heroine.” 

She put out her hand as if to touch Meg’s, that 
were folded together on her lap. Then suddenly 
seeming to remember there were twenty pairs of 
eyes looking at her, she turned her face away from 
Meg’s sweet one, glancing at the ladies, who a little 
distance off, whispered together. 

“ Ladies,’* she said, “pray talk aloud.” And then 
as at her word they became silent, Calamity sent out 
another shout of merriment. “Ha! Ha! You’ve 
no idea how I tiptoed along when I saw so many of 
my sex picnicking together. Thinks I, if I’ve had 
no shots, here’s game in a flock, and I’ll capture, at 
least, their thoughts. I had the greatest curiosity to 
know what you were talking about. For though a 
woman. I’ve been so little with my sex that they 
always seem like birds, whose beauty lies in their 
plumage. It’s rarely one finds out any thing about 
i/ieir hearts.” 

Her lip curled scornfully, then her face softened, 
and the strange eyes looked on Meg as she finished. 

“ Except for enthusiasts, this lady included, we 
who have the rough-and-tumble lights of life, might 
doubt that woman, lovely woman, has a heart.” She 
laughed again, sprang to her feet, tossing up her 
rifle, and catching it, as boys do, when full of exu- 
berant spirits. 

“ Thanks,” she said to Meg, who, covering up the 


8o 


CALAMITY JANE. 


lunch from the criticism of her companion, had noted 
that whatever Calamity wanted, it was not the food, 
which she had barely touched. 

“ Farewell, Fm off — ” Calamity gave another 
sweeping bow that was as full of grace and spirit as 
was every thing she did. She walked a step or so, 
and then, as the ladies were quickly gathering up 
their baskets, wheeled around, and again leaned on 
her rifle as she looked at them, saying : 

“ There must be something fascinating about 
fashionable women, for even I can not tear myself 
away. One of you walk with me a little distance. 
This I don’t force upon you, but entreat of you.” 

She glanced at each, letting her eyes rest last on 
Meg, upon whom those strange eyes had such power, 
that as none of the others spoke, Meg timidly said : 

“ I — I will walk a little way with you, if the ladies 
will wait for me here. Will you ? ” 

Which gentle request, supplemented by Calamity’s 
rather fierce, Ladies, you will wait, I am sure you 
will wait,” brought forth a decided “We will.” 

“ Come then, since you are not afraid of one who 
would not harm you.” Saying these words Calamity, 
with Meg, walked away from the grove of pines on 
to the bare rocks, and when about fifty feet distant 
from the ladies, stopped. 

“ Meg DePew ! ” Meg started when Calamity 
called her name, repeating it softly as if the sounds 
were pleasant to her, as with tender eyes, she looked 
into Meg’s startled ones. 

“ Meg DePew, do you suppose I came here to 
see them ? No, except to amuse me, what interest 
can they have for a woman, a vagabond like Calamity 
Jane. I who wan4er foot-sore, grow desperate, com- 
mit crimes. I have no fancy for dolls. But when a 
woman sweet and pure looks into my face, my soul 
cries. Thus mightst thou have been if — if — ” Her 
voice choked in her throat, her whole body shook, 
but not with laughter, as straining her rifle to her 


ivoMAN^s picnic:' 8i 

side, she turned her face away. “Ah!” Meg’s 
gentle pity swelled her breast, sending its dew into 
her eyes. She had heard that this woman was 
wicked, she knew she was notorious ; but when in 
this outburst, her nature cried aloud, Meg saw only 
that she was a woman, like herself! 

“Jane,” she said softly, “the greatest saint was 
once the greatest sinner. Not that I stand in judg- 
ment on you, only this, that if you have done wrong, 
God will pardon, will love you, if only you repent.” 

“ God ! Yes,” with a shrug of her shoulders, “ God 
may; but where does He live? Where is the place 
He provides for such as I am f If I repent, where 
could I go? My pards would cast me forth, and 
where is the home that would open for Calamity 
Jane?” 

She turned her face on Meg, the eyes still swim- 
ming, tears still hanging on her lashes, and slowly 
trickling down her cheeks, but her mouth was 
smiling as if the comicality of repentance had over- 
powered other feeling. 

The smile brighted and widened until her teeth 
added their whiteness to her curious charms, and her 
eyes catching her merriment were like the sky in an 
April shower. While Meg, earnest, pitiful, was 
thinking out away to provide for repentant Calamity, 
and with slow soft speech was uttering her thoughts, 
growing more confident, and earnest as she spoke. 

“ I — I am without friends except my husband, 
and he in marrying me, cut himself off from his rich 
connection. If I were single, I would say to you 
now, come home with me, Jane, God has provided a 
home for you. But for this, I must ask my hus- 
band’s consent. He will give it, I know he will, I 
hope he will, when he sees how my heart is in it. 
He loves me. He will not refuse me.” 

As DePew, his pride of birth and horror of noto- 
riety came to his wife’s thoughts, her lovely color 
faded, her lips trembled, and her eyes, raised for the 


82 


CALAMITY JANE. 


first time to Calamity’s, entreated of her, as only such 
eyes can entreat, that she would believe what Meg 
only dared hope. 

“ Oh ! you are delicious ! ” Calamity’s laugh rang 
out more merrily than before. “You are simply 
delicious ! In your sweet purity ready to believe in 
a reprobates conversion, and that a proud man of 
the world would take into his house the cast-away of 
society? Meg DePew !Meg DePew, was there ever 
a woman like you ? Sweetest creature, I would give 
ten years of my life just to kiss you.” 

“You may kiss me, now,” said Meg, still quiver- 
ing with her pity for this sister woman. 

“ Kiss you ! ” Calamity’s laugh had now a sob in 
it, “with those women looking on, sweet soul, my 
kiss would blast you more than the lightning ; why 
my hands are burning to touch yours, yet 1 would 
not, not to save me from death, unless by some 
merciful accident these twenty pairs of eyes were for 
an instant rendered sightless. No, I have lived a 
life of danger, a lawless life, I have seen the good 
and evil, mostly evil,” with a shrug, and a toss of her 
head, “ but never have found so sweet a creature as 
you, Meg DePew. You can’t remember me? Yet 
not a word or gesture of yours can I ever forget. 
Even the baby you held became dear to me. I left 
for your sake, a present for it at Rapid City. I 
would give you something, I would have something 
of yours. Take this, it is honestly mine. I found it 
in the sand as I walked up to this picnic, just to see 
you. Drop something for me on the earth, I will 
pick it up and rush away, lest, if I stood longer look- 
ing into your sweet soul, through those clear eyes, I 
do something that may injure you. Quick ! ” 

She spoke in low whisper, her blue eyes growing 
black as her pupils dilated, and her mouth trembling 
with agitation as she held out to Meg a tiny nugget 
of gold. 

“ Take it ; you do not doubt my word ? ” she asked, 


^^THE WOMAN'S PICNIC. 


83 


while Meg with hand in pocket, was thinking what 
she could give to this strange woman, who, whatever 
she might be called, she could not believe was evil. 
The only articles Meg had about her that could be 
given, were her wedding ring and a relic of the 
mother who died at her birth. Both were dear to 
her, but the ring she could not part from, so upon 
the ground she dropped the prayer-beads she had 
carried all her life, and taking the nugget said : 

“ I do not doubt you, Jane,” feeling as one in a 
dream, for Calamity Jane and the young road agent 
were mingled and mixed together. 

“ Farewell, Meg DePew, when I am dying I will 
claim the kiss you offered me to-day.” 

With a bow Calamity unobserved caught the prayer 
beads from the ground, and like a wild deer, bound- 
ing down the mountain, was soon out of sight. 

Still with the feeling as if she were dreaming, Meg 
walked slowly toward the group of ladies surround- 
ing the one who, having given Meg her invitation, 
felt that responsibility rested on her. 

“ It is very strange ! What can Calamity Jane 
have to say to Mrs. DePew ? ” 

“ I wonder if Mrs. DePew is quite — quite the per- 
son for us to know.” 

“ Dear me, I wish I could hear what this creature 
is saying to her,” were some of the comments of 
the lookers-on, while Calamity talked to Meg. 

The feeling of the ladies was controlled and modi- 
fied, however, when Calamity bounding away and 
Meg turning back to join them, her hostess said : 

“ Mrs. DePew is young and ignorant of the ways 
of society. Of course she is the sort of person to 
know, or / would not have invited her. As for what 
that creature may be saying, I have not the slightest 
curiosity, and, ladies, if you will be goverened by me, 
you will not mention this incident in Deadwood. 
Well, my dear, have you had a pleasant conversa- 
tion ? ” she asked patronizingly, as Meg approached. 


84 


CALAAIITY JANE. 


“ What was it she gave you ? ” being asked at the 
same time by one of the other ladies, Meg held out 
the nugget. 

“ Pshaw ! Was that all? While she was giving, 
she might have given something worth the keeping! 
That don’t even buy you a pound of candy,” was 
the unanimous verdict of the ladies, whose jealousy 
of Meg abating, as they found out of her how little 
value was Calamity Jane’s present, they took out of 
their pockets their bottles of gold-dust and small 
nuggets which in the scarcity of coin, and plenty of 
gold, was the current money of Deadwood. 

“ See ! It takes this much for a pound of French 
candy,” pouring some into their hands to show Meg 
the amount. “Ah, well,” she said, “I don’t need 
candy, but I’ll keep my nugget in memory of 
to-day.” 

Whereupon, in recovered spirits, indeed somewhat 
gayer from the effects of their excitement, the party 
descended the hills, and returning to Deadwood by 
another gulch, came upon a forlorn-looking cabin, at 
whose door a woman sat, nursing a baby. 

“ Does she look like a belle or a beauty ? ” whis- 
pered Meg’s companion. 

“ Poor, tired creature ; she looks too ill for either,” 
responded Meg, who had bowed as they passed the 
cabin. 

“Yet,” said her informant, “that woman, within 
one week, had three hundred offers of marriage.” 

“ Is it possible ! ” Meg exclaimed, aghast at such 
a terrible situation ; and then flushing scarlet as all 
the ladies laughed, and she felt she had been made 
the dupe of her credulity. 

“ It is a fact,” asserted the leader of Deadwood’s 
fashionable world. “ Circumstances sometimes do 
more than either beauty or agreeability. For that 
very unattractive creature happened to be the first 
woman who arrived in Deadwood 1 What an excite- 
ment she created ! No gold mine ever awakened a 


^•CALAMITY JANE. 




like feeling. The run on white shirts was so great 
that within four hours there was not one left in 
town. And the poor fellows who were delayed at 
their mines were forced to be content with paper 
collars when the stage drove up with its precious 
load ! Out skipped the woman, amid a deep but 
feeling silence. So full of feeling was that silence, 
that in less than a week every single man in town— 
and there were three hundred — laid himself and — his 
claim, at her feet. Unfortunate creature! She 
chose the poorest 1 So there she sits nursing a 
baby and cooking her dinner, when she might have 
been worth her thousands.” 

“ Perhaps she loved the one she chose.” Meg’s 
timid suggestion awakened such mirth among the 
ladies, that the ‘‘ woman’s picnic ” returned to Dead- 
wood in a burst of laughter, while on the streets, 
drawn up as if in dress parade, were the wild look- 
ing, but most respectful men. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


‘‘CALAMITY JANE.” 

M eg found her husband waiting at their door for 
her, where, it being the first on the road leading 
to Main Street, the ladies left her, at her tiny 
house. 

“ I’m glad you’re safe home, and vexed that I 
consented to your going,” said DePew, biting his 
mustache. 

“ I am glad, too, since I am with you.” 

Meg’s soft reply did not entirely turn her hus- 
band’s wrath, but it concentrated his vexation on 
himself. 

“ To be sure, love,” he said, as he pulled less 
fiercely at his mustache, “ I don’t blame you, who 
are too innocent to know that the whole town is 
talking of this ‘woman’s picnic.’ Why, I’m told 
they paraded themselves right down Main Street, 
just as strong-minded women might do. I have been 
fairly raging at myself all day, and this afternoon I 
learned that that notorious character. Calamity Jane, 
had arrived last night, from nobody knows where, 
and had declared in the saloon of Madame Mus- 
tache, the faro dealer, opposite the hotel, that she 
would be of the party. I am told that bets were 
taken by all the gamblers present, and that that woman 
took a large wager, that she would obtain and exhibit 
a present of a lock of hair from each lady’s head. 
I don’t know how the other men may take it, but if 
my wife’s hair were in possession of such a creature 
I should feel like killing every man that looked 
at it.” . 


^'CALAMITY JANE. 


^7 


DePevv waited for a few moments, and then, as 
Meg did not speak, he put his arm about her. He 
believed she was offended with him, and while the 
few months of their married life had been to him 
anxious months ; while he who had never counted 
money, was now first finding himself in hard straits; 
yet he had not once felt less than happy that Meg 
was his wife. 

Impulsive, high-tempered, he had never spoken 
to her.except in tenderest tones ; had found her so 
lovely and lovable that his own impatience had 
greatly moderated ; and now that, in some measure, 
this impatience had been manifested toward her, he 
feared he had hurt her, whom he cherished. 

“ Forgive me, love ! ” he said. 

His answer was a kiss. 

“ I am not offended,” she replied, I was trying 
to say something that would make you think better 
of Calamity Jane ! ” 

Meg’s kiss had exorcised the evil spirit from 
DePew’s heart. 

“Calamity Jane!” he laughed. “Pah, Fm in- 
clined to believe the whole thing is a myth. It 
was told me by a not too reputable fellow, who came 
very near being knocked down for saying that 
Calamity’s scalp locks might all be passed off but 
yours ; for your hair, being of a wonderful gold, 
would at once be known as the hair of Lawyer 
DePew’s wife. I declare, Meg, I am both stupid 
and ill-natured, for I not only believed him, but had 
it not been for the knowledge that harm to me 
would have hurt you, I would have kicked the fellow 
into the streets, and have had a first-class row on 
my hands. Instead of which I came home — a most 
cheerless place in your absence, love — and fumed 
and fretted, until when you did appear I was growl- 
ing like a bear.” 

He could laugh over it now, with her arms about 
his neck and her soft cheek pressed to his ; laugh, 


88 


CALAMITY JANR. 

too, that Meg should want him to think better of 
Calamity Jane. But it was like Meg. 

“ Why, my girl ! ” he laughed, “ I’m afraid you will 
make a bad Christian. I believe if any one spoke 
ill of the devil, you would try to urge something in 
his favor. Yet you never could know any thing of 
any devil.” 

DePew looked very handsome, as his eyes shone 
with a happy light. He looked handsome, too, when 
they flashed and a frown came to his dark facer, when 
Meg said : 

“ But, love, I do know Calamity Jane, and I can 
not believe ill of her.” 

“Know Calamity Jane! Where in the — ” he 
checked himself. And then stiffly, but more quietly, 
“ I would like to hear what my wife knows of such a 
person.” 

It was Meg’s turn to laugh. But it was not a 
merry, happy laugh. She thought of the woman, 
as, shaken with sobs, she had leaned on her rifle. 
She thought of her offer to open her husband’s home 
to her, and then she looked at the handsome face, 
with its flashing eyes and heavy frown. These were 
called up at the bare name of her to whom she had 
offered a home ! 

“ What do you know of that — that notorious 
woman ? ” asked DePew, not inclined to join in 
Meg’s weak and unmirthful laughter, as she said: 

“ I know that she came to the picnic to-day.” 

“ She did 1” was DePew’s amazed explanation. 

“ That she had each of the twenty ladies give her 
a lock of their hair,” continued Meg. 

“What!” DePew’s face burned with rage. He 
grasped his hat and started for the door, filled only 
a man can imagine with what wild plans. But Meg 
stood before him. She was trembling with nervous- 
ness, but she controlled it, saying demurely: 

“ She has no hair of mine. I was the twenty-first.” 
And then, while DePew hesitated between amuse- 


CALAMITY JANE:^ ^9 

ment, felief and, man that he was, curiosity ; Meg 
went on, “ No, she did not ask for a lock of my hair, 
but she walked with me a few steps off — in sight of 
all of them,” she quickly interposed, when DePew’s 
eyes darkened. “And then, O darling, I wish I 
could tell you what she said and how she said it. I 
wish I could show you her eyes filled with tears, and 
her body shaking with sobs, as there, alone with me, 
she cried out that for such as she, the world had no 
pity, no shelter.” 

Meg’s own lovely eyes and tender mouth, Meg’s 
clasped hands upraised, touched her husband more 
than Calamity’s would have done. Yet, generous, 
noble-hearted fellow as he was, such a possibility as 
shaming the cruel world, and taking into his home, 
placing with his wife, a notorious woman, never 
entered his mind. 

“ Well, Meg, I am sorry for all women who go 
astray. The world is harder on them than on men. 
But this one, this Calamity Jane, is perfectly lawless. 
Who could offer her a home ? Who would dare take 
her in?” 

“ I would,” said Meg, solemnly. 

“You! Meg, you are mad. Why, the creature 
would rob you before twenty-four hours had passed, 
and murder you too. Ah, my dear girl, I am thank- 
ful your husband is more worldly-wise. If I were 
convinced that any woman, however fallen, wished 
to reform, I would help her in every possible way. 
But to take her to my house, to bring her in contact 
with my wife — that is something no living man dare 
do.” 

“ Then how would you help her? With money ? 
That would not raise her out of the depths. Repent- 
ance can not always be in extremes! A fallen 
woman has a heart, a necessity for companions who 
will elevate. She needs relief from too painful mem- 
ory. She must be made to feel that her sins have 
not cast her out from the world, where she desires 


90 


CALAMITY JANE. 


to return. Ah ! husband ! darling ! could not such 
a woman find a home with us? If not, it is as Jane 
said, there is no place for the repentant. For 
repenting, her companions in sin cast her off, and 
then, no one of the other, the unsoiled, untempted 
class will receive her.” Meg’s voice trembled. 

“ Meg ! Wife ! ” DePew took her in his arms. 
“ Beloved, there is nothing you could ask that I 
would refuse, except to injure you. This "foolish 
whim of your too tender heart, would be to you the 
most fatal injury. I would be a most unworthy hus- 
band, if I permitted that, or any notorious woman, 
to enter my house. If Calamity Jane, who, 
as far as I can learn, enjoys her wild life, really 
desires to repent and reform, I will do for her what 
I would not do to save my own life : I will write back 
to New York, and interest in her some wealthy peo- 
ple. They could help her far more than I could. 
They would rather enjoy the prominence they 
would obtain by having as a protige a wild Western 
character. Where is this wonderful Jane, that from 
all reports is as much of a man as she is a woman ? ” 

^‘She has gone,” said Meg. 

“Ah, my sweet girl ! ” DePew was laughing again. 
“ She was only playing upon you. She did not wish 
to reform.” 

And though his wife told him all that passed 
between her and the vagabond, though she repeated 
with touching pathos the woman’s outburst against 
the possibility of repentance ; she never moved him 
from this opinion. 

In the evening he came home triumphant ; for on 
a pole in Main Street, under a lantern, was pasted a 
paper with twenty locks of hair upon it. Opposite 
each lock was the name of the donor, and under- 
neath, in round, clear characters, much like the writ- 
ing of a school-boy, was : 

“ If any one wants revenge, let him meet me five 
miles out from Rapid City. Calamity Jane.” , 


CHAPTER IX. 


AT THE “BULLFINCH.” 

U P at his mine Oliver worked day and night. He 
was driving the tunnel, which had about reached 
the ground that by surface measurement was in- 
cluded in his claim, but upon which he had every 
but ocular proof, that the “ Stillwater Company ” 
was working. There was no longer any doubt, for 
on the other side of the thin partition of rock, the 
old man raged, as with ghostly sound the voices and 
laughter of the miners came to him. “ Devils ! 
They’re larfin’ ter think they are takin’ out my rock, 
usin’ my gold ! Lord ! An’ ter hear that purty wife 
o’ Charley’s talk o’ souls ! Ken a man hev a soul an’ 
jest for wages, rob o’ his own another workin’ 
man ? Souls ! I’ll send some o’ em, whar it’ll be a heap 
warmer than that tunnel.” Old Oliver was alone in 
his cabin, cleaning his rifle and filling the cartridge 
belt, making ready to combat for his rights. “Ter 
night, I calkurlates ter cut through an’ meet ’em 
face ter face. Thar’s the warnin’ ! Ef they don’t 
listen ter that argyment p’raps they’ll listen to 
this.” 

He tapped his rifle, loading it, and then picking 
up a huge piece of brown wrapping paper, read over 
with great relish the words to which he had devoted 
much time and considerable labor. 

“ To all who it consarns — 

“ Ebenzar Oliver havin diskivered an located this 
here Bullfinch, an knowin that it is being wurked 
does warn off o his groun, any sech, as dar wurkon 
it, under penalty o deth. Eben Oliver.” 


9 ^ CALAMITY JANE. 

He looked at the words, chuckling to himself : 1 

calculate that’ll fix ’em ! Thieves ! An’ they can’t 
say as how I killed ’em without a warnin’. No ! 
Soul or no soul. Oliver ain’t the boy as ’ll shoot the 
unsuspectin’.” 

He posted the notice just at the opening of the 
tunnel that on the surface was on the “ Stillwater ” 
grounds, but which, leaving the daylight, sought in 
the darkness the richer quartz of the neighboring 
“Bullfinch,” and then giving a glance up to the sky, 
said with his low chuckle : 

“They’ll soon be out for their dinners ! P’r’aps 
they’ll find a sauce most as appetizin’ as Mexican 
peppers ! ” 

Going to the cabin he put the belt around his 
body, took the rifle in one hand, and his dinner 
bucket in the other, and leaving them just inside 
the tunnel, where he was working, stoad at its 
mouth waiting for the miners to come out for their 
mM-day meal. He counted them as they emerged 
into the daylight. “ Five ! An’ six on night shift ! 
Wal, I guess I’ll be ekal ter Dern ’em ! ” 

For gathered around the notice he had written 
one was reading it aloud, while the others laughed 
in derision. The reader shouting out on seeing 
Oliver : 

“ So yer on the fight, are yer ! Yer can’t let yer 
ole bones rest! Hev ter try ter put ’em in a bloody 
grave ! Yer’d best go ter the wukhouse. Thar is a 
home pervided for ole fools I ” 

The old man ground his teeth with rage, swearing 
every oath he had ever learned. Yet while he raged 
and cursed, his heart was kind. And in this kind 
heart he regretted the fighting, perhaps the killing, 
that must come if he would protect his property. 

“ It’s no use, Charley,” he had said, as delay fol- 
lowed delay, and the court’s officer did not examine 
the workings of the “Stillwater” mine. “ The law 
be derned. I lies ter fight ’em off, or they’ll rob me 


AT THE bullfinch:' 


93 


of most of it, afore we ken git that derned thief ter 
measure off their ground. Once my tunnel’s through, 
he’ll hev ter come, or hang me ef I don’t kill him 
too, now I’m in the bizness.” 

Whereat DePew, whose young blood was con- 
siderably excited, rejoined : I agree with you, 

Oliver. A mining camp is a bad place to trust to the 
slow decisions and tardy protection of law. It is 
all very well when the client only represents a fee, 
but when he is a good old fellow like you, whom I 
hold as a friend, I grow impatient ! I’ll come up 
and help you ! ” 

But to this Oliver would not consent. 

“ No,” he shook his head. “ No, I’ll fight this out 
alone. Ef yer gits in, it will damage the case in the 
courts. Further, it might be suspected as it war not 
fer principle but fer property Lawyer DePew was 
a fightin’ ! ” This - argument had prevailed with 
DePew, but it was not Oliver’s first thought. That 
he spoke to himself while he watched DePew riding 
homeward, down the gulch. 

“ No ! No ! ” said the old man. “ Ef I gits killed, 
who’ll keer? None p’r’aps but that young feller. 
But ef he war ter be shot down, whar’s the mine as 
’ud comfort that nice little gal what b’lieves in a 
soul ! Lord ! Lord ! A soul ! The only ones I’m 
convinced of are these yer ! An’ I’m derned ef they 
ain’t half paper.” 

He looked at his boots muddied over with the 
red clay of his claim, chuckling to himself as he 
thought of Meg’s discourse on immortal souls. And 
then he had gone to his work, which, being a sharp 
Yankee, he had managed so skillfully that while he 
knew perfectly well that other picks were being 
struck into the rock, his had not been heard. He 
had kept his blows in time with the others, striking 
only when theirs had been struck, and being alone, 
continually on the alert, had advanced his work 
without being suspected. 


94 


CALAMITY JANE. 


Thus his notice was looked upon as an idle threat 
by the strong young fellows who jeered at him, while 
he stood swearing out his rage. 

“Old! Work-house, is it? Oh! Bern yer ! Old 
as I be, I ken wake yer all up. Yer has yer warnin’; 
if yer don’t take it, it ain’t no fault o’ mine.” 

He went into his tunnel, where, sitting on a stone, 
he drank his coffee and tried to eat. But he had no 
appetite. Filled with an excitement he could not 
control, he paced up and down, until, hearing the 
men re-enter into the “Stillwater” tunnel, he 
walked noiselessly along to the thin partition of 
rock that yet divided them. 

It was but a shell of quartz that concealed the old 
man from those that, under his breath, he called, 
“ Them derned thieves ! ” 

So thin a shell that he had pierced it in several 
places, and through the apertures, too small for 
them to perceive, there came to him, standing in the 
darkness, the glimmer of their candles. 

He put his eyes to one of the little holes, hardly 
able to control himself as he saw the shift of men, 
only a few feet away, picking down the rock of whose 
richness he could judge by the fact that instead 
of rolling it out in cars, they were busily sacking it. 

Suddenly Oliver’s rage changed to amusement; the 
long wrinkles came into his cheek, and leaning 
against the rock he shook with suppressed laugh- 
ter. 

“ They is sackin’ it fer me. Derned perlite o’ 
them ; fer sure as I war born o’ honest parients, not 
a pound o’ that rock ’ll they ever kerry out o’ that.” 

His laughter over, he counted the kegs of powder 
that he had piled around, examined his fuse, walking 
with noiseless steps out “ fer a breath o’ fresh air 
an’ a look at the purty sky,” and then back again at 
his post of observation, listened and waited. 

“ Lord ! how tedious this is,” he whispered to 
himself, as, sitting on a powder-keg, he tried to find 


AT THE 'HULLFUSrCHT 95 

consolation in tobacco. But in these moments of 
suspense even tobacco was powerless. 

Hours passed, the most trying of old Oliver’s 
trying life. Finally, hearing the foreman call “Time !” 
he sprang to his feet, and with a blow of his pick, 
making a great hole in the rock that divided him from 
“ them thieves,” through the opening thrust his body, 
with rifle ready. 

“ Go ! yer derned thieves ! ” he shouted. “ Go ! 
Yer has worked yer last on Oliver’s ledge ! ” 

His sudden apparition had something in it super- 
natural to the miners, who believed him divided 
from them by a good many feet of solid rock. Re- 
covering somewhat at the sound of his voice, they 
made a stand, determining to resist, until the click 
of Oliver’s rifle, and his determined, “Go! or I’ll 
fire 1 ” made them see the charms of discretion. 

They took to their heels, pursued to the very 
tunnel’s mouth by the old man. 

“To the work-house, is it?” he shouted. “ No, 
yer thieves ! Old or young, no work-house for 
Oliver. He can perfect his own.” 

For a second he stood enjoying his triumph. It 
was a second that repaid him for many hours of 
pain, as, chuckling with delight, he exclaimed : 

“ Beat ! the lot on ’em 1 and not a shot fired. Ter 
the work-house, ha ! ha ! ” 

Then, hastily piling stones at the mouth of the 
tunnel, he hurried back, stepping off the “ Bullfinch ” 
ground, which, with muttered imprecations, he found 
reached the first turn in “ Stillwater ” workings. 

“ I’ll fix ’em,” he said. Picking away vigorously 
in the soft rock he soon had quite a pile of it, behind 
which he rolled kegs of powder. Attaching a fuse 
to this, he stood at his own tunnel with the other 
end in his hand, as the day-shift of the “ Stillwater ” 
company, re-enforced by the night-shift, marched up 
in order of attack. 

Unseen by them, Oliver watched their movements, 


96 


CALAMITY JANE. 


as, on finding themselves barricaded out, they 
gathered in a knot of consultation. 

Apparently concluding the old man was playing a 
game of bluff, the party walked up to the tunnel 
with the determination of forcing an entrance. 

“Keerful!” called the old man, “the powder’s 
placed, the fuse is ready; tech a rock an’ you’ll be 
blowed ter — ter hell!” At this last word he 
chuckled, “ Hell ! That’s what the little gal b’lieves 
in who goes her pile on souls.” 

With all his chuckling and good-humor, his eyes 
were on the lookout for his enemies. As two of 
the party came toward his tunnel, he hid behind 
some rocks, holding in full view the barrel of his 
rifle, muttering : 

“ I means murder, an’ wants ’em ter know it. 
Oliver don’t kill no onsuspectin’ man.” 

The rifle possessed a powerful argument, its silent 
protest being sufficient to make the foremost of 
these envoys withdraw rather hastily. 

“ Oliver,” he said, “we don’t want no foolin’. The 
mine’s nuthin’ ter us. Yer has gone ter law. Fight 
it out with the company, but don’t be so tarnal mean 
as ter keep a lot o’ honest fellers from earnin’ 
wages.” 

To this no answer being returned, the man again 
came to the mouth of the tunnel, when “ click ! ” he 
heard the trigger raised, and backed once more into 
the open air. 

“ Look yer ” — he dropped his former conciliatory 
tone — “look yer, Oliver, don’t be a derned fool. 
Yer can’t stop the Stillwater Company a wukkin’ 
it’s own mine. They”ll bring the law upon yer, an’ 
hev yer whisked off ter jail. Come out, I say, an’ 
don’t be a-hidin’.” 

Still no answer. Whereat the man, pulling at his 
revolver, walked to the tunnel, when the muzzle of 
the rifle advanced and Oliver’s shout, “ Keerful ! ” 
made him again retreat. After a few whispered 


AT THE ^‘BULLFINCH.” 


97 


words the two men went back to the main body, 
where a variety of counsels prevailed. 

Some were for rushing into Oliver’s tunnel, others 
were for breaking down the barricade placed at the 
mouth of their own, and others, again, were for 
standing guard and starving out the old man. 
There was a half-hour of animated discussion, when 
the majority, believing that Oliver was singly trying 
to scare them off, and that the rocks once removed 
from their tunnel, their way would be clear, the gang 
of ten men went to work. In a few moments, with 
jeers and laughter, they had pulled down the barri- 
cade and entered their tunnel. There, coming upon 
another pile of rocks, they had just begun to throw 
them to one side when, “ Keerful, she’s fired ! ” 
shouted only a few feet from them, made them turn 
and fly for their lives. They had barely reached the 
mouth of the tunnel when a terrific explosion was 
heard, the ground under their feet shaking with the 
great blast, and the volumes of smoke rolling out of 
the tunnel fairly blinding them. 

There was a moment’s shock ! They believed 
Oliver, in warning them, had perished in the mine. 
They waited a little for the smoke to clear away, de- 
termining they would “do the fair thing by him an’ 
give the derned fool a decent burial.” But their 
kindly feelings were put to flight by the appearance 
of Oliver himself. At the opening of the “ Bull- 
finch,” not one hundred feet away, he stood shaking 
his rifle, his face black with smoke, smoke, too, on 
his gray hair, grimed in with blood, but with life 
and fire enough left for any desperate deed, as he 
yelled : 

“Thar! Go, will yer? Yer steals no more! 
Oliver holds this fort ! ” 


CHAPTER X. 


A TREACHEROUS ENEMY. 

H IS voice echoed and re-echoed through the 
gulch, whose windings in and out made it pos- 
sible for the workers at their different claims to see 
each other’s dumps, just by climbing the rocks that 
overhanging the gulches had in consequence been 
named “ Points Lookout.” 

They were now crowding upon these observatories, 
for even in that place of blasts and explosions 
the thunders of old Oliver’s war cannons had an- 
nounced some extra ceremonial. 

“ Ef the ole cuss ain’t fired out the hull gang ! ” 
laughed one, hurrying down to Deadwood with the 
news. 

The town was agog with amazement and full of 
ridicule for the Stillwater miners, who were over- 
powered by one man, “ an’ he past sixty.” • 

On the arrival of the foreman of the mine he was 
so much joked at and made fun of that he. swore he 
would “ oust Oliver out of his position,” if it took 
him his year’s wages, and his life to boot, offering to 
the gang of men, in the name of their employers, 
five thousand dollars, if ‘‘they’d get even.” Upon 
this offer followed a secret conference of the miners, 
after which, on being requested to know what the 
owners of the mine desired, the foreman shrugged 
his shoulders, giving to his men this valuable infor- 
mation : 

“ Boys, the owners o’ the Stillwater don’t want 
ter know nuthin’. But ” — ^adding with determina- 


A TREACHEROUS ENEMY. 99 

tion — yer ken be assured any man as gits in a tight 
place for our company’ll be pertected.” 

Thus the battle against old Oliver was virtually 
transferred from the mine owners to the mine 
workers, the wealthy company, in Pilate fashion, 
washing its hands of any crime that might be com- 
mitted by a reckless set of men, whose anger and 
pride aroused, were banded against him who, alone 
and unaided, had virtually conquered them. 

What was a life more or less to these ? Deaths 
resulting from a battle over a claim were of such 
common occurrence that to those who had grown 
up among such scenes, it seemed the natural solu- 
tion of difficulties. As long as the ground was un- 
measured the right was on their side as much as 
on Oliver’s, and to keep that ground urfcertain, 
meant the extra pay each man received for regular 
work. 

This had been a private understanding between the 
men and their foreman, for in this, as in the present 
plan against Oliver, the Stillwater Company ap- 
peared only by proxy. Prominent men, men of 
wealth, they could not risk their reputation in such 
a quarrel ; but that they would protect all in their 
service, and that other mining camps could always 
be reached by miners who felt the Black Hills did 
not agree with them, were facts perfectly clear to, 
and thoroughly understood by, the men working for 
this company. 

When the miners learned that they could win the 
five thousand “ an’ get even,” in their own fashion, 
they called another meeting, where they drank plen- 
tifully of liquor furnished by their obliging foreman, 
and cast lots ; the two men upon whom the lot had 
fallen going to their foreman, awaiting in another 
room the result of this conference, simply stated 
that they had concluded to stop “ up ter mine.” 

What else they had concluded, was not asked. But 
money in abundance for all needs was furnished, the 


lOO 


CALAMITY JANE. 


reward after they “ war through,” again promised, 
and visits arranged by their fellow-laborers, so they 
“ wouldn’t grow lonesome.” They started at once for 
their post, leaving the rest of the “ Stillwater ” gang 
the jest and ridicule of Deadwood. 

They laughed off the jeers and taunts of the 
camp ; going occasionally to see the two miners who 
“ was just a watchin’ fer our side,” in the temporary 
cabin they hastily erected, near the mouth of their 
tunnel. 

Old Oliver was still “holding the fort.” It was 
held pretty thoroughly, fresh barricades being placed 
at the opening of “Stillwater” tunnel, and to his 
notice being attached : 

“ Keerful ! It’s packed with Giant this time. Deth 
ter him who dares enter till the groun is mesured, 
and rong rited. “ OLIVER.” 

He kept inside his tunnel, which was also barri- 
caded, coming occasionally to look at, and laugh 
with the men whose cabin was so situated that they 
were vis-a-vis to him. 

This self-imposed captivity, this idle watching, was 
very irksome to the old fellow, to whom hard work 
and sunshine were necessities. But he had not been 
without a friendly visit, for DePew, hearing the news 
of Oliver’s battle, had ridden out at once to the 
scene of action. 

He had come upon Oliver as, chewing away at his . 
tobacco, he was busily building fresh barricades, 
clapping him on the shoulder in congratulation. 

“ Hurrah, old hero ! ” DePew had exclaimed, and 
then had laughed as Oliver turned to him, his face 
all blackened by powder, out of which the sharp, 
gray eyes twinkled with fun. 

“ Hero be I ? Wal, Charley, here’s my hand. Give 
it a good shake. Fer I come a nigh ter shakin’ wi’ 
a rock, I war so darned pleased wi’ myself. Eleven 
on one, counting the foreman. All beat, drove 


A TREACHEROUS ENEMY. 


loi 


out by a old feller as they was a-talkin’ o' sendin’ 
ter the work-house ! Ha, ha! I jest yelled fer joy, 
when I seen them heels a-flyin' afore me an’ my 
gun ! Me alone, jest me 1 ” 

The long wrinkles covered his face, as his mouth 
widened with laughter. Then poking DePew in 
the ribs : “ I say, Charley, yer ken tell that purty 
wife o’ yourn that I jest begins ter b’lieve in souls, 
an’ a hereafter, jest now, sence for onc’t I war 
helped.” 

When his laugh v/as over DePew assisted him to 
build the double barricade, stepping off, first, the 
claim on the surface, laying down the compass, which 
is the miner’s necessity, taking the points, and then 
repeating the same measures in the tunnel, to be 
assured that when the case did come on they had 
the law with them. 

“ It’s Giant this time, Charley. No more darned 
foolishness. Ef they tries ter get in, that’ll pile up 
rock as’ll pervent work.” 

The “ Stillwater Company ” had excavated a large 
chamber of rock, which, if that sacked and that still 
left were fair samples, was exceedingly rich. 

“ Ef I were a guessing I should say two hundred 
thousand wouldn’t kiver it,” said Oliver, medita- 
tively. Then frowning as he stamped his foot, “ But 
I’ll not think o’ it, for it’s already nigh drove out 
the b’lief in souls I was a-tryin’ ter hev jest ter please 
that little gal o’ yourn.” 

Out of the tunnel under the quiet stars that looked 
most beautiful seen through the pines which in this 
gulch grew thick and high, DePew and Oliver 
decided that the best thing to be done was, for 
Oliver to “ hold the fort,” as he called it, and for 
DePew to start at once for the officer appointed by 
the court to inspect and measure the litigated 
ground. 

As going for this officer would probably take sev- 
eral days, since it was impossible to tell his exact 


102 


CALAMITY JANE. 


whereabouts, and the camps were at distances from 
each other, DePew helped Oliver remove his pro- 
visions into his tunnel, when, filling the barrel with 
water, the old man was prepared to resist a long 
siege. 

The first day of absolute loneliness had been intol- 
erable to Oliver. He actually welcomed the coming 
of the two “Stillwater” miners, watching the build- 
ing of their cabin with interest. Occasionally even 
shouting a word of direction as, less experienced, 
they made errors that would have rendered their not 
too comfortable abode uninhabitable in case of a 
storm. Thus a sort of good feeling grew up between 
the old fellow guarding his rights, and the young 
fellows determined to rob them away from him. 

“ I suppose yer is come ter see I don’t take any 
o’ my own rock?’’ called Oliver, chewing and laugh- 
ing, as the others nodded “ yes.” 

“ Well, yer needn’t fret, I ain’t agoin’ ter stick a 
pick inter it. It’ll keep, can’t spile, and can’t eat 
nothin’, and purty sopn I’ll have the legal as well as 
the moral right ter take my own. Yer seems right 
clever boys! P’r’aps I’ll give yer a job!” said the 
old feller chuckling over his words. 

“ When ye’s ready to give, we’s ready ter take,” 
answered the others, laughing at Oliver’s joke. 

The two had quite a pleasant time of it, playing 
cards, throwing dice, settling their wages, losing, 
winning, drinking whisky, talking to their visitors; 
in fact doing all that is supposed to make up a mi- 
ner’s enjoyment. 

But to Oliver, penned up in the tunnel, the hours 
grew almost insupportable. He became so nervous 
and restless from inaction, that he lost his appetite, 
tobacco sickened him and a slow fever set in. 

Yet he never wavered in his determination “ to 
hold the fort.” “ I hes promised Charley, an’ I likes 
thet lad. As for the derned gold, I don’t kear so 
much for it. Seems somehow as thet there precious 


A TREACHEROUS ENEMY. 1 03 

metal I’ve been a-sarchin’ fer fer fifty years ain’t half 
so precious as a good tin cup o’ col’ water. My ! 
but this yer baril’s got a orful taste.” 

He spat out the mouthful of water he had just 
taken, sitting down on a keg and looking over his 
barricade at the two miners in their cabin door, who 
talked and laughed together. 

“ Two clever young fellers! I wonder why they 
tuk the fancy o’ helpin’ rich men ter steal from me I 
God knows I wouldn’t injure them, nor no man, 
livin’ nor dead ! But I s’pose they is young an’ 
foolish, an’ ain’t got nobody to talk to them o’ their 
souls. Ha! ha! nice little gal. Purty as a picter ! 
It’s quar all thet she said o’ souls ! ” 

Then leaning his head against the rock he fell into 
a feverish sleep, wherein dreaming that the Still- 
water workmen, re-enforced by the whole of Dead- 
wood, were coming to drive him from his claim, he 
sprang to his feet, grasping his rifle and shouting, 
“Yer can’t take it till yer takes my life,” wakened 
himself, to find that the two young fellows opposite 
had ceased laughing at each other to laugh at him. 

“ What’s up, ole man? Has yer got ’em agin? 
Snakes this time, or tigers ? ” called one. 

“ Yer ken laugh,” said Oliver in a low, husky voice. 
“ Yer ken laugh. ’Tain’t no law agin it. But I’m 
derned if yer gits my claim. Though what I wants 
a claim fer God knows. I ain’t got no use fer 
money. Leastwise not much, an’ thar’s no one on 
top o’ the groun’ as keers fer old Oliver.” 

Resting his aching head on his hard hands, two 
tears trickled down his cheeks, running in the fur- 
rows the long wrinkles had made. 

“ Tears ! Wal, I jest b’lieves I has the jimjams, o’ 
suthin’else! I ain’t cried sence I’se growed old ! 
’Sides I lie! F^r I b’lieve Charley likes me. I 
b’lieve he jest goes a pile on me, an’ I’m derned ef I 
don’t make him my heir. P’raps ” — he chuckled as 
he hunted in his pockets for a piece of paper. 


io4 


CALAMITY JANE. 


“ P’raps they’ll name their fust child fer me ! Eben- 
ezer Oliver DePew. That’s better’n havin’ a young 
’un fer myself.” 

Stirred into something like animation, he carefully 
opened an old envelope that was fragrant with to- 
bacco and wrote on his knee : 

“ I, Ebenezer Oliver, gives and bequeethes all I 
has ter Charles DePew and his children forever. 
I^^The copy of original locashun is hid atween 
my bed-slats. Ebenezer OLIVER.” 

“ That’ll fix ’em. Fer even ef the record’s burned 
the copy’ll be safe,” he said, and read over what he 
had written. 

Then carefully placing the envelope between two 
larger pieces of hard tobacco, he tied them together 
with a bit of twine and began preparations for sup- 
per. But he could not eat. His mouth and throat 
were parched with thirst. Again he tried a cup of 
water from the barrel, and again spat it out. Even 
the tea tasted “ o’ thet tarnel bar’l.” 

“ Now, ef I could jest git my mouth down ter that 
crack, wouldn’t I draw in a keg full,” he said, cran- 
ing out his neck until he could almost see where, a 
tiny thread of brightness, the little stream ran down 
the mountain side into the gulch. 

‘‘ What’s the ole varmint up to?” asked one of 
his watchers. “ I’m gettin’ orful tired o’ sittin’ yer 
like a cat afore a rat-hole.” To which the other re- 
plied, “ Wal, ef yer so tired, why don’t yer walk up 
thar and kill him? Yer hes swored ter do it.” 

“ Yes ; but ef I does thet, he may git the drop on 
me ! ” said the first speaker, who was the younger of 
the two. “ Wal, yer jest wait ! Take a hand with 
me. He won last time, an’ I wants ter git back the 
money. Hurry, lad, fer I sees signs o’ the ole man 
weakenin’, an’ we ain’t got too much time ter play 
afore we skips the camp with our jackets full o’ 
chink. It is a good thing to hev rich pards. There 


A TREACHEROUS ENEMY. 105 

they is jest carryin’ off the officers from camp to 
camp, while the lawyer chap’s a-chasin’ arter, an’ we 
sits here a-watchin’ that ole fool.” 

“ Ef he’d not been the wust o’ fools he’d just 
compromised this business, an’ insted o’ fightin’ fer 
his rights an’ losin’ his life, he’d marched out o’ 
camp with a cool fifty thousand. But such as he is, 
he is ! Take a hand, I say, and let me win back my 
money,” said the elder of the two young fellows. 

They played on, while Old Oliver at his tunnel’s 
mouth, hot with fever, thirsted for a drink from the 
creek. 

The sun set, the stars came out, and still the old 
man fought down his burning thirst. 

“ I darsn’t go, though it be only fifteen feet away. 
I darsn’t go ! ’Tain’t fer the derned gold. No, 
’tain’t that. Purty little gal who b’lieves in souls. 
So bright an’ clear her eyes looked as she said it. 
No, ’taint only fer the gold; it’s fer my right. 
Gord ! a man’s no better’n a dog as wouldn’t die fer 
his rights ! ” 

He raised himself to his full height, staggering as 
he tried to walk, while his head throbbed and ached 
until he could hardly see. 

“ It’s all foolishness, this yer dyin’ fer a drink o’ 
water. Yet I’m derned ef I wouldn’t give every thin’ 
but my rights jest fer the privilege o’ puttin’ my 
mouth ter thet creek an’ fillin’ my ole stomach with 
cool water.” As he spoke he was examining the 
fuse, seeing that it was properly fixed to fire at a 
moment’s warning. This was his last duty, faith- 
fully performed every night of the six which he had 
passed in the tunnel. And now the seventh, he did 
it, just as carefully holding the end of the fuse in 
his hand, with matches continually at his side as he 
lay down on his blankets and tried to sleep. 

But court it as he might, no sleep would come to 
him; with aching bones, and splitting head, he moved 
and turned until sighing : 


I o6 • CALA Ml 7 ’ y JA NE. 

“ I’m denied ef I ken stan’ this yer nonsense,” 
he pulled himself up, and still holding the fuse, 
picked up the matches and walking to the tunnel’s 
mouth, looked at the cabin opposite. 

“Jest for company,” he said to himself. But 
the cabin light was out, every thing was still, not a 
living object in the whole gulch, as far as Oliver’s 
eyes could reach. 

“ How good the air feels! ” He stretched out his 
head to enjoy it, and as he did so, there came to 
his ears the faint trickling of the tiny creek as it ran 
on in its happy way between rocks and mosses. 

“ Lord ! but I’m parchin’ with thirst, I wonder ef 
I ken make it! Jest fifteen feet there and fifteen 
feet back. Them boys is asleep ! ’Sides them is 
clever boys. They ain’t got nuthin’ agin’ me. Lord, 
ef their cabin was a-burnin’, wouldn’t I just skip 
across thar and help ? I calkerlate so.” 

Again he leaned out, listening to the creek, until 
between fever and thirst he was nearly mad. But in 
his madness he did not forget his rights, rolling out 
the fuse and holding to the matches as he thought, 
“ Ef they starts I’ll fire it, though Gord knows I’d 
hate to hurt ’em. Them’s jest two clever lads.” 

Softly he stepped across the barricade, feeling 
a thrill of delight as he stood erect in the fresh night 
air. Then noiselessly as an Indian, he walked to 
the creek, to reach which he had to turn his back 
upon the cabin, Avhere of the two miners, one was 
sleeping, the other watching. 

“ Git up I say ! Git up 1 ” whispered the watcher, 
trying to shake the other out of his heavy doze, 
“ Git up ! He’s out I Wake, yer derned fool, or I’ll 
throttle you,” he spoke in louder tone. 

Oliver, reaching the creek, had swallowed a mouth- 
ful of the delicious water, when in the stillness the 
miner’s voice reached him. “ Git up ! Take your 
gun. Remember, we fires tergither, so we can’t 
tell who did it. Git up, yer fool ! ” 


A TREACHEROUS ENEMY 107 

Perfectly audible now, the words fell oh Oliver’s 
ears, penetrated his understanding that, weakened 
by fever, had regained its clearness in the beautiful 
clear night. 

“So thet’s yer game!” he said, running a few 
paces, until having shortened the fuse, he lit it as 
bang ! bang I went two rifles, and the old man fell. 

He lay on his face, blood flowing from a wound 
over his heart and from another in his leg. The 
bright moon shining on him with the splendor of 
day, when the two miners ran across the dividing 
space and turning him over examined his wounds. 

“ Done for ! ” they exclaimed, and then the 
younger, who had been the sleeper: “Wal, Tm 
glad he got his drink o’ water. It’s a satisfaction 
ter know he had his last wish afore he left the 
world. D’yer know, Jim, I couldn’t hev fired, ’till I 
seen him git up from the creek ? ” 

“ Yer foolish ! Fer I sez, ef yer is obligated ter do 
a thing do it thprough,” replied the other, who, sat- 
isfied that Oliver was too near dead to be conscious, 
was very thoroughly examining his pockets. 

The old man’s faint gasps grew yet fainter, when 
rising to his feet “Jim,” as his confederate called 
him, said slowly, “ There’s nuthin’ there. No paper, 
no copy o’ the original location. No papers o’ any 
kind. The hull case jest ends in his life, and a good 
job it war over. But I wish I was sure he had no 
copy of records.” 

“ What is that yer hed ? ” asked the other. 

“ His ’backy ! ” 

“Yer a cool one, Jim! Don’t take it. It’s 
unlucky. Lord ! ” he started, back shivering, as 
Oliver’s eyes suddenly opened, and then with a 
gasp and slight stiffening of the body, closing again, 
the younger of the two who had sworn to murder, 
knocked the package of tobacco out of the other’s 
hands. “Lord, Jim, but you’re a cool ’un. I’d 
starve for a chew afore I’d take it off o’ him.” 


io8 


CALAMITY JANE. 


“ It ain’t that,” said the other simply. ^‘Yez is 
the biggest fool I’ve ever seen. Ain’t we swored 
to search well an’ take all we fin’s ter the ker- 
mittee?” 

“ But ’backy ! What does they want of ’backy ? 
I say give the ole man his ’backy. I tell yer, Jim,” 
in a mysterious whisper, “ I hev heard it said that 
ef yer takes what the dead likes best, they toilers 
yer. Now, I ain’t afeared of the livin’, but the 
dead ! ” The speaker shivered as a light cloud 
obscuring the moon, a sudden darkness fell upon 
them, and then when sailing on the brightness 
shone upon the ghastly face of the man at their 
feet, grasped his companion’s arm. 

“ Come, Jim, come ! It’s awful here ! ” 

“ Come ! Wal yer hez lost yer ead ! Ain’t we got ter 
search the cabin. I tell yer in case any heirs does 
pop up for the ole chap it would be mighty handy 
to hold the writin’ o’ original location. The book 
o’ records can be managed.” 

‘‘Wal! wal! We ken do it to-morrow! in the 
daylight. I tell you thar’s suthin’ awful about night 
time when yer looks on that ! ” 

With a shudder the younger man pointed to the 
body of old Oliver that stiff and straight lay 
at their feet, two pools of blood at his side, and his 
face turned up to the peaceful sky. It was an awful 
sight in that still and beautiful gulch ; awful too, 
that old and alone he was killed just because he 
defended his rights. 

But “Jim ’’was more philosophical than his con- 
federate. He did not waste time looking at that 
awful face, nor the stiff body lying in its blood. 

“ It’s over,” he said. “We swore to fire together 
so we neither o’ us need feel the responsibleness. 
Yer can’t say it was me. I can’t say it was you. 
Now we hez suthin’ else ter do. We hez that cabin 
o’ his to look over, else we ain’t kept our oath. 
Come, I say.” He dragged the other a few steps. 


A TREACHEROUS ENEMY. 109 

and then when he resisted, said, “ Wal, ef yer 
don’t go, the money mightn’t be our’n arter all. 
Yer hev done the wust. ’Twon’t pay to lose the 
chink now.” This argument prevailing, they entered 
the small cabin of one room, where old Oliver had 
passed so many hours, dreamed so many dreams. 

They were but a short time searching, for there 
was in it only the necessary furniture of a rough 
pine bedstead, a table, and two sawn tree trunks for 
chairs ; yet in those few moments the lighted fuse 
had eaten, eaten, until entering Oliver’s tunnel, it 
hastened to deal death and destruction. 

Onward it crept, its dull, red eye more potent than 
a viper’s sting, making the curve in the tunnel, 
passing the excavated chamber, reaching the giant 
powder, as nearing their own tunnel the two mur- 
derers stopped for an instant. An instant fraught 
with horror and death. For with a shock, a roar, 
as if the earth were opening, out from the tunnel’s 
mouth great rocks belched forth, knocking them 
over, rolling them down the gulch, burying them 
under their crushing weight. 


CHAPTER XL 


“ MEG.” 

S EVEN days alone in her tiny house Meg watched, 
prayed, waited. No one called upon her. For 
whether Calamity Jane had created jealousy by her 
attentions to Mrs. DePew, or whether the lack of 
attention. in not obtaining and proclaiming a lock of 
her golden-red hair, having kept her name out of the 
written list, had angered her less fortunate friends ; 
was not known to Meg. She did not trouble herself 
much about the neglect of the ladies, for Meg had 
not time to waste on imagining causes, having a 
great cause lying on her heart. It would have been 
a painful effort to have conversed with those fortu- 
nate women, whose difficulties past, had now no 
worries, save a diamond more or less, or the unfash- 
ionable world in which they were thrown. This 
world was fashionable enough for Meg, if only in it 
she could have peace. 

But with husband away, riding from camp to 
camp, facing alone the dangers of those plains, that 
seen through her loving fears, were terrible places ; 
with old Oliver up in the tunnel and two men wait- 
ing for a chance to conquer him, and for her to sit 
at the window watching the busy throngs crowding 
Main Street, listening to the noises and revelry of 
the nights, with now and then a pistol shot making 
her heart stop beating as some possible horror rushed 
to her mind, how was peace possible ? 

“Perhaps he will come to-day!” she said each 
morning, and then as the day passed, her sudden 
startings of hope as a step neared her door gave 


''meg:' 


III 


place to sad endurance. A dozen times she was 
tempted to go up the gulch to the “ Bullfinch.” 

“ It would be less lonely there. I would not hear 
those fearful shots, nor be terrified by the shouts 
and laughter,” she thought, looking wistfully up the 
gulch from her door-step, and then hastily entering 
her house, closing the door as some passer-by stared 
at her sweet face. 

“Yes, I would be better off with Mr. Oliver,” she 
said, whispering the words, for small as was the 
room, alone in it her voice sounded strange and un- 
natural. She looked around timidly, then tried to 
laugh at her fears while she thought over the matter 
and decided that as Mrs. DePew she had better 
remain just where her husband had left her. 

Again and again she went over this point as the 
days passed and the noisy nights made sleep impos- 
sible to the frightened young creature, who in all the 
trials of her life had never before been in a house 
alone. 

“ If I’d only a cat or a dog, or any living thing,” 
she thought. But there was nothing. Nothing but 
her own fears and dreads to keep her company, 
while she waited, watched and prayed. One, two, 
three, four, five, six days had passed. With the 
seventh her anxiety for DePew grew so great that 
she determined to go out, to ask some one about 
the possible places her husband might have to visit 
to find the officer, this terrible officer. 

‘With trembling fingers she put on her hat, started 
off, and when a few feet away turned back. 

She could not ask any one. Whatever she suf- 
fered she must support alone. A single question 
would betray her husband’s business, the secrecy of 
which was so important that he had gone out from 
Deadwood on horseback, as if for a short ride. 

The seventh day, the seventh dreary day had 
passed, and Meg at the window or behind the cur- 
tain, looked out with anxious eyes, seeking among 


1 12 CALAMITY JANE. 

those many figures and numerous horsemen for him 
she loved. 

“ Suppose he should never come back! Suppose 
cold and dead he is lying on those terrible plains ! 
Or perhaps wounded he perishes for lack of care ! ” 
Her heart gave dull throbs of anguish at these fear- 
ful thoughts, as with fervent prayers she besought 
heaven for her husband. 

An hour passed, the night crept on, the moon 
peeped in her window, and found her still on her 
knees praying for her beloved. 

Quieted by her devotion, feeling a calm steal over 
her anxious heart, she gazed upon the beautiful 
night, and the noisy town ablaze with light. How 
the noise kept on ! How regardless were those who 
lived of those who died 1 Into the saloons poured 
the ceaseless throngs, out of which so many they 
had known were borne dead ! Yet they seemed to 
feel no horror as they entered upon the road that 
had led to another’s misery. 

While she stood and moralized a man ran past the 
window bareheaded. It was not such an unusual 
thing in Deadwood to see a bareheaded man. For 
in a town of its perfect license, men could bare their 
heads, roll off into a drunken sleep, do almost any 
thing they pleased so they did not make themselves 
a public nuisance. 

Meg had not lived for months in Deadwood with- 
out learning this. Yet now the appearance of that 
bareheaded man had so excited her, that she trem- 
bled. She could hardly stand, and her blood sounded 
in her ears ! She watched him until, lost in the 
crowd, he was no longer visible. Still she watched 
— watched for him to return, although the hour was 
past eleven, and Meg, worn out with anxious days 
and sleepless nights, needed rest. “Not now,” — she 
said the words as horrible surmises ran through her 
mind, for somehow she had fancied that as the man 
ran past her window he had looked at the house. It 


^meg: 


113 

might be only fancy. Yet, even had he looked, it 
had no meaning, for standing at the outskirts of 
Main Street this was the first habitation that broke 
the long solitude from the gulch where there were 
cabins and tents in plenty, so most people did look 
at it. Meg knew this, yet could not drive away the 
idea that that man rushing down into the town had 
something to tell which concerned her. 

What can it be? she thought, for her husband 
had not gone that way. Perhaps something was 
wrong with Mr. Oliver — but Meg surmised no more, 
for now a wagon filled with men drove furiously up 
Main Street, and, as she stood at the open door nerv- 
ing herself to ask a question, passed too rapidly for 
her question to be heard. She caught a word or 
two, for the men spoke in excited voices, shaking 
their hands, not noticing her as she tried to listen. 

“ Two shots — killed — both — explosion — ole var- 
mint.” 

What do they mean ? she. asked herself, clasping 
her hands tight together. 

Just then an accident favored her. A gust of 
wind blew off the hat of one of the men. The wagon 
stopped ; some one sprang down to get it, and as 
the owner turned his face to the moonlight Meg rec- 
ognized him. 

It was the foreman of the Stillwater Company. 
Her husband had pointed him out to her, saying: 
“ He’s the greatest rascal and smartest thief I have 
ever known. Why, Meg, so uneducated that he can 
barely write his own name, he manages the whole of 
this steal from old Oliver.” 

Meg stood looking after the wagon. There was 
something wrong with that old man. Her husband’s 
hopes and ambition were bound up in that Bullfinch 
case. All those men had gone up as witnesses for 
the other side. There must be a witness for their 
side. Whom could she ask ? What friend had she 
in town? Those ladies, would their husbands go? 


CALAMITY JANE, 


I14 

Would one of them ride up with her? No; she 
could not expect it. They found their lot hard who 
lived in ease and comfort. Would they, then, late 
at night, oblige her? Besides, she could not ride. 
Their funds were down so low that now they could 
afford only necessities, and but few of them. To 
hire a carriage for even this short drive of two miles, 
was not possible. Besides, there came in again the 
need for secrecy. 

“ There is so much money and influence against 
us, Meg, that we must be wary, careful, secret." 

How many times had her husband said this to her. 
Telling her that to win was almost as necessary to 
him as she was. . “ You see my future is in it," he 
had said. Would they ever win now? What was 
wrong in the gulch ? What could she do to help her 
husband, who, far away, could not help himself. 

Go up to the Bullfinch. Be the witness for your 
husband. Meg trembled as this idea suggested it- 
self. Yet, trembling and timid, she determined to 
act upon it. Putting on jacket and hat, she took 
matches in her pocket, and pinnihg to the inner door 
a slip of paper with the words, “An accident has 
happened. I am going up to the Bullfinch to Mr. 
Oliver," she closed the outer door, and with a prayer 
for help, started alone on the road up the gulch. 
Only two miles, she kept saying it to herself, as she 
toiled upwards, stopping for breath, looking around 
her in alarm, thinking of all the frightful things that 
ever happened to women on lonely roads. 

Only two miles, but how long they seemed to her, 
unaccustomed to rough walking. She believed when 
she reached the cabins and tents she would be less 
timid, but walking by them she trembled and grew 
faint. 

What could she do if any one spoke to or sprang 
upon her? For, with a woman, death is not what 
she most fears. 

So Meg, near the tents and cabins, where might 


dwell lawless men, walked close to the bushes, hid 
behind trees, lest seeing a woman alone in that place 

at that hour they might mistake her, might “ O 

Lord, preserve me,” she prayed. 

As she prayed she thought of Jake, the stage 
driver. His bitter cynicism, his sad disbelief came 
before her. Was her faith thus to be tested ? Would 
she pray and yet be destroyed ? She clasped her 
hands, looked up to the sky, prayed, trembled, and 
feared. Yet, through all, kept on walking as quickly 
as possible, not wavering in her determination to go 
to the Bullfinch, dare every danger, and serve her 
husband ! 

She went steadily onward, following the one road 
until coming where the gulch narrowed, she found 
the empty wagon with its team secured to a tree, 
while before her spread out a number of trails. 

Which was the one to take ? She must hurry, for 
there was no time to lose ; those men were already 
ahead of her. She must be there to see, to know, if 
her testimony were to be of any use to her husband. 

Which was the trail to the Bullfinch? She had 
but once visited the mine, and then with her hus- 
band in daylight ; it had been the only trail she had 
noticed, while now, beckoning her onward, these 
many paths allured, bewildered her. 

Again, in her sweet soul, she prayed for guidance, 
and again Jake's skepticism came back to her, mak- 
ing itself heard above her faith. 

“ Guide me,” she prayed, calling upon heaven, 
striving to cast out doubt, and then, still uncertain, 
took the third trail, climbing to the left of the gulch, 
which she remembered was the side whereon Oliver’s 
tunnel opened. 

“ The Lord has helped me,” cried out Meg’s soul 
joyfully. “ He will help me. He will let the right 
prevail.” 

Stronger now, invigorated by that divine elixir, 
faith, she kept climbing along, until leaving the trail, 


Ii6 CALAMITY JANE. 

she made her way among the rocks, for she recog- 
nized a land-mark: Oliver’s cabin, with the tiny 
streamlet near it, whose water she had tasted be- 
cause the old fellow had solemnly assured her: 
“Thar ain’t nothin’ like it, atop o’ the earth.” To 
her it had seemed much as any other water, but now, 
as it served to point out Oliver’s cabin from the 
others resembling it, she called the stream “ an 
angel’s finger.” 

Descending as carefully as she could, bruising her 
feet, and cutting her fingers on the stones, Meg’s 
heart swelled with gratitude. For in her night’s 
exploits she had disproved poor Jake’s disbelief. 
Unworthy as she was. Heaven had blessed her, had 

“ Oh ! ” Meg groaned in terror and dismay, 

for as she reached more level ground, and started for 
the cabin, she was stopped by something more hor- 
rible than any thing her imagination had pictured. 

The body of poor old Mr. Oliver lying in a pool 
of blood — dead! 

For a moment Meg stood horror-struck. All the 
world seemed blotted out by that awful figure at 
her feet. And then her soul, rising above her nerv- 
ous, trembling body, she kneeled beside the old 
man, putting her fingers on his wrists, listening at 
his heart, as she had read was done upon the field of 
battle, by holy sisters, no stronger, nor older than she. 

She turned deathly faint at the smell of the blood, 
shook like an aspen as she held the hard old wrist, 
but with the strength of will, the desire to do her 
duty, fought off her own sickness. And gradually, 
as she more thoroughly controlled herself, became 
conscious that something in that wrist she held 
throbbed every once in awhile, and the heart at 
which she listened, made slow, dull thuds. 

“ He is not dead. What shall I do ! ” she whis- 
pered, trying again to call before her the remedies 
of those white-bonneted sisters, of whom as a child 
she had loved to read. 


'^MECr 


lif 

Stop the blood ! ” She remembered that was 
what they always tried to do, so the wounded would 
not bleed to death. 

How could she reach the wounds ? The heavy 
canvas pants resisted her soft fingers, and the shirt ! 
She feared to pull at it lest the slightest jar set 
the blood into a stronger outpour. 

Perhaps there was a knife in his pocket. She ran 
her fingers in and found one sticking in a piece of 
tobacco, so hard that it required all Meg’s strength 
to pull it out. 

When this was accomplished, she cut a slit in the 
shirt, exposing the wounded side, where a long, 
gaping wound looked terrible to her. At the end of 
this wound was a lump right under the skin, which 
moved as she touched it. 

“ The bullet ! I must get it out ! Oh, must I cut 
him ! ” she whispered. Then setting her teeth, gave 
a little cut to the skin, and out into her hand rolled 
the bullet. 

Hardly knowing what she did she dropped it in 
her pocket, and then pressing the edges of the 
wound together held her handkerchief against it. 
She stopped for a moment thinking how she should 
manage a bandage. Then pulling off her jacket, to 
roll as a brace against her handkerchief, took her 
skirt, which, torn into wide strips, she pressed under 
his body and pinned together. 

The wounded leg was bleeding more freely, but 
after a little she managed that too, then ran to the 
creek, and bringing water in an old tin can she found 
there she bathed his head, and wetted his lips. Still 
he did not move! Did not even moan 1 Would he 
die? Poor old man ! How hard it seemed 1 What 
else could she do ? If only she had a little brandy, 
that might revive him. 

As Meg turned around something dark lay beside 
her. And she saw it was two huge pieces of tobacco 
tied together by a piece of twine. “ His one com- 


CALAMITY JANE. 


Ii8 

fort," she said, sobs coming from her lips and teais 
from her eyes, for such a barren, lonely life as tliis 
poor old man’s had been. She cried so bitterly, 
covering her face with her hands, that she did not 
hear voices and steps behind her. 

“Thar’s the old varmint! I seen he was dead 

afore I run down. What! A woman ! Wal ’’ 

The three men stepped back, silent with amaze- 
ment. Until presently, in a whisper, one said : 
“Wal! Here is a go! Old, ugly, an’ pore. I 
wonder which o’ the gals he managed ter git. Come, 
let’s see which o’ the beauties bed sech taste.’’ 
Laughing under their breath they came near to 
Meg, one of them putting his hand on her shoulder 
with, “Let’s see yer face, gal,’’ and starting when 
Meg turned her tearful, frightened eyes upon him. 
Her first terror was lost in the thought, “ Perhaps 
they have brandy. Perhaps that might save him.’’ 

“Oh, sir! ’’ she said, springing to her feet, “per- 
haps you have a little brandy ! I am afraid he is 
dying. Poor old man, shot twice ! And with no 
one here to defend him! He is my husband’s 
friend,’’ she added with a sob, and fresh tears run- 
ning down her face, that, pure as an angel’s, and 
heavenly in its pity, touched these rough men as 
no sermon could have done. 

“ Lawyer DePew’s wife. I could ha’ swore I seen 
her at her windy when I ran down to tell yer fel- 
lers,’’ the one had whispered who had led the other 
to look at the “ old varmint who was tryin’ ter blow 
up the camp.’’ 

The wounded man did not seem now such a var- 
mint when a lady knelt beside him, or stood with 
clasped hands and tears running down her face, just 
“ for an ole stick like Oliver.’’ Somehow Meg’s 
pity for this miner seemed a personal compliment. 
He’s one of us, they thought. Yes, he was one of 
them, of all the very poorest, and oldest one in camp. 
Coming to revile him, they were now “ ready ’ter do 


''MEG. 


119 


any thin’ as the lady wants,” they informed her, 
while one pulled out his flask, telling her “ ter jest 
keep it.” 

They waited while she moistened Oliver’s lips and 
forced a drop or so down his mouth. 

They waited while she listened, hoping to hear a 
moan or see some sign of returning animation, and 
then, when with trembling voice she said : 

“ I think he is nearly gone. But will you kindly 
take him to his cabin, he may die easier on his 
bed.” 

They lifted him gently, carrying him to the cabin 
while Meg followed, holding in her hand “ Poor 
Mr. Oliver’s tobacco.” 


CHAPTER XIL 


“DEADWOOD IS DIVIDED.” 

P LACING him on his bed, one ran for his 
blankets, “ He was campin’ in the tunnel,” he 
said ; another made a fire in the stove, and another 
brougnt a bucket of fresh water and piled some 
wood “ handy-like.” 

They laughed when Meg looked for a pillow. 

“ Pillar! ” they said in derision. “ Miners don’t hev 
no sech nonsense, jest a roll o’ blankets for our 
heads, that’s our pillars.” But when she said she 
wished he had one they amended their opinion, prom- 
ising to bring up hers in the morning, and then after 
offering “ ter sit up ef she war afeard,” and the offer 
being thankfully received, and gently declined, they 
left her alone with the moonlight, with that barely 
breathing figure on the bed. 

They had been so kind an4 helpful, so gentle in 
spite of their rough speech, that Meg had not been 
afraid of them ; had found such comfort in their 
presence, that when they left her, she ran to the 
door feeling that she could not stay alone with 
death, that she must call them back. 

But she did not, saying only to the one who 
stepped toward her to ask “ Ef the missus wanted 
any thin’,” “You will surely bring the pillows. For 
should he linger, he will need whatever comforts we 
can give him, and — and a doctor ! You will ask one 
to come as soon as possible, won’t you ? ” 

“ Sartain, ma’am, sartain. Thank you,” the man 
replied to Meg’s soft “ Good-night.” 

She waited at the door until he had joined tlK 


^'DEADWOOD IS DIVIDED, 


121 


Others who were walking toward the place where the 
loose rocks lay, that she had noticed as she had 
climbed the mountain. 

The men were hurriedly rolling them off. They 
seemed to be looking for something, but Meg could 
not wait to see, for a faint moan summoned her to 
the bed. 

Almost entirely without experience in sickness of 
any kind she had only a tender nature and true soul 
for helps. But these are wonderful helps. The 
greatest sufferer need not fear to trust to them. 
They are the higher parts of the complex system — 
humanity, that raising it above all self, makes the 
belief in Deity possible, even to the skeptic. 

That gentle, timid woman alone with this man, 
exemplified noblest charity. The control that she 
exercised over nerves and body, was strength 
superior to that which is without dreads, without 
terrors. 

She leaned over Oliver, straining her arms and 
hands to change his head to a more comfortable 
rest on the pillow, which she had made of her 
jacket. 

While she was still busied with him, a rap at the 
door made her turn, and welcome the visitor who said 
“ I am the doctor.” He was a tall, young-looking 
man ; who when he had struck a match and finding 
a candle, had glanced at Oliver, took a good look at 
Mrs. DePew. 

With hat off and bright hair somewhat disordered 
she was well worth looking at. She did not notice 
that Dr. Baile was giving more attention to her than 
to Oliver, nor that his eyes were bright with admira- 
tion. But then the doctor wore glasses, which so 
reflected the candle’s light, that to Meg his face 
seemed nothing but a young beard straggling over 
cheeks, and two shining spots where his eyes were. 

Into those shining spots she gazed so earnestly, 
that Dr. Baile’s face flushed almost as red as his 


122 


CALAMITY JANE. 


straggly beard. It was to him a very romantic 
incident, this midnight meeting in a lonely cabin, 
with a beautiful young woman. That she had a 
husband, did not lessen the attraction ; for in this 
free camp, husbands were easily-disposed-of difficul- 
ties, and it was whispered that hers had deserted 
her. 

“ Ahem! Mrs. DePew I believe;” his hand hold- 
ing the candle shook so with his pleasurable excite- 
ment that a drop of the hot sperm fell on Oliver’s 
wrist, whose moan drew Meg’s attention to it. 

“ He will live 1 ” she joyfully exclaimed; ‘^see how 
sensitive he still is. Ah, doctor I ” again those 
lovely eyes were fixed on his shining glasses, “ I was 
trembling lest you should say you thought he could 
not be saved ! ” 

“Is — is he then of so. much value?” asked the 
doctor with a twinge of jealousy. 

“ Indeed he is ! He is my husband’s friend !” 
Meg’s all-sufficient reason given as artlessly as a 
child, was a blow to Dr. Baile’s vanity. He did 
not reply, and she went on. 

“ Besides he is old, alone, has had a hard life, and 
while we believe that the other is the better world, 
yet we like to know that people have had some 
pleasure in this. But, oh 1 doctor,” clasping her 
hands with a little gesture of entreaty that Was one 
of her most bewitching ways, “ look to him, do not 
stop to listen to me.” 

“ Ah ! ” sighed the doctor. Then as Meg took the 
candle he undid the bandages and examined the 
wounds. The one near the heart was long but not 
deep. That in the leg was the worse, but neither 
were dangerous except for the probable fatal loss of 
blood. This, after extracting the ball, was the 
medical opinion, which, delivered to Meg, raised her 
hopes. 

“Did he bleed much?” asked Dr. Bade, glad of 
the opportunity to look again at this pretty woman. 


^^DEADWOOD IS DIVIDED:* 123 

“ I don’t know,” she answered. ‘‘When I found 
him he was lying unconscious, both wounds were 
bleeding, but not profusely. But I am strong with 
hope. He will get well. Poor Mr. Oliver. He will 
get well, and yet have some happiness.” 

The doctor remained until a man came to summon 
him. 

“ We have them out,” he said. Excusing himself 
Dr. Baile took his departure, saying he would call 
the next morning, and not until then did Meg 
wonder how it was possible the doctor had been so 
near, and who were those the man said “ they had 
out. 

She had not much leisure to indulge her surmises, 
for Oliver, beginning grow feverish, required her 
constant care, and she was no experienced nurse who 
knew how to save herself. Filled with her charity 
and tenderness she occupied every moment helping 
him. Bathing his head, moistening his lips, smooth- 
ing his rough hands with her soft ones, until toward 
dawn, he rested quietly, and Meg, sitting on one of 
those tree chairs, with her head against the wall, fell 
fast asleep. 

There were wounded men in another cabin, not 
far from Oliver’s. The two miners who had joked 
away the hours of watching their chance to kill the 
old man, were more grievously wounded than their 
victim. Wounded too, without intent or malice, for 
the barricade defended by giant powder was not 
made for the destruction of life, but to so obstruct 
the workings of the “ Stillwater ” company that days 
would be necessary to remove the debris, in which 
time if De Pew arrived, the “ Bullfinch ” ground would 
be measured and reported, an injunction would of 
necessity be granted, and further robbery prevented. 

With all his swearing and disbelief of souls, 
Oliver would not have fired that battery against man, 
save only they had, despite warning, determined to 
force the siege ; even then, with his naturally kind 


124 


CALAMITY fANM. 


heart, it is doubtful if he would have been willing 
to defend his rights by such frightful loss of life as 
would have occurred. When the voices of his intended 
murderers had, by favorable breeze, reached him 
through the night’s stillness, his thoughts had been 
only of De Pew and his rights. And his last con- 
scious moment w'as one of satisfaction, that now 
“ Charley ” would fight out his fight and enjoy his 
rights; the injuries to Oliver’s assailants being the 
result of the time lost in altercation which brought 
them to the tunnel’s mouth at the very instant that 
the dull fire of the lighted fuse had reached the 
powder. 

But Deadwood would not believe this. At 
least part of Deadwood, for the town was arrayed 
against itself, half being for the two intentional 
murderers, one of whom blinded for life with battered 
head hung on the verge of that eternity to which he 
had sworn to send another, and his confederate with 
one leg wrenched off, and one arm useless, was 
suffering torture and conscious through it all. Half 
of Deadwood was so thoroughly for these injured 
men, that had it been the rougher, wilder half, 
there would have been lynching and vengeance 
meditated. And such a flaming reception ready for 
the absent DePew, that Meg’s heart would have 
been broken. 

Fortunately, however, for Meg, the rough inhabi- 
tants of Deadwood were almost unanimously for her, 
and her side. They stood in knots on Main Street 
discussing the “ sitiwation,” and the miner who, 
bareheaded, had rushed down to the “ Stillwater ” 
foreman with the news “ thet thet ole varmint hed 
blowed up their mine and killed their watchmen,” 
had become Oliver’s greatest ally. The old man 
lying dead, covered with the crime of wholesale 
murder, was not the same as that “ poor, lonely, 
hard-working man, the rich were trying to rob, ” as 
Meg described him, when at sunrise with a pillow 


^^DEADWOOD IS DIVIDED: 


125 


under each arm, the miner had stopped respectfully 
at the door of Oliver’s cabin, which, in all its exis- 
tence, had never held any thing half so lovely as that 
sleeping girl, whose bright hair seemed a nimbus of 
light against the dingy wall. 

“ My ! But she are a beauty ! And a good ’un ! 
Look ! never even took off her collar nor loosed the 
button at her throat.” The miner moved his own 
throat, that felt the oppression of the loose flannel 
shirt. He looked at Oliver who was quietly resting, 
and then putting the pillow on the floor was going 
away, when Meg with a blush beautiful as morning, 
wakened, went to the door, thanked him for his 
goodness, and offering him her hand to shake, told 
him “ God would reward him for his kindness to a 
•poor, lonely old man, the rich were trying to rob.” 
For a moment or two the rough fellow was so over- 
powered that he could not speak. But a miner has 
a good deal of self-possession, and is generally gifted 
with an inquiring mind, so after a silence of pleasure 
he asked, “Missus, I’d like to know how that ole 
man fired off such a lot o’ powder. He’s a nigh 
killed two fellows, an’ ef it warn’t fer luck, might ha’ 
killed more.” 

“ Is any one killed ? ” Meg exclaimed, turning pale. 

“ Ob, don’t worry about them, missus, p’raps I was 
just a-lyin’ ter hear myself talk. But ef you ken, 
answer my question, fer,” in a whisper, “thar be 
some in Deadwood, that is tryin’ ter stir up a feelin’, 
and the burnin’ fuse hez been traced ter whar he 
lay.” 

“ Indeed,” said Meg earnestly, “ I don’t know how 
it happened. But this I do know, that the second 
barricade where powder was placed, was within the 
Bullfinch ground. That it was to be fired only to 
obstruct work, and prevent further robbery of ore, 
until the officer could measure the ground. And 
that, when I arrived here I found this ole man 
man apparently dead. Shot twice, see, here are thq 


126 


CALAMITY JANE, 


bullets! Some one must have tried to kill him. If 
there are two men injured by the explosion, they, if 
they fired, must have done so, before they were in- 
jured. And how, if wounded, could Mr. Oliver have 
fired the fuse ! ” 

“ Wal, it’s all strange,” said the miner, looking per- 
plexed. Then brightening, “ May I jest lay the case 
afore the body o’ miners ? It’s in your interest, mis- 
sus ! Peelin’ runs high, an’ — an’ it’s ter the advant- 
age o' — o’ yer husband, that he should hev a few 
on his side.” 

The peculiar meaning thrown on the word “ hus- 
band ” frightened away Meg’s roses. She turned 
white as snow. 

“ Oh ! ” she said, clasping her hands and looking 
as “ purty as a peach,” as the miner afterward 
described her, “ Oh ! my husband is the noblest and 
truest man in the world. No one could know him 
and not love him.” 

“ Wal, missus, I may jest state the matter for his 
side?” the miner asked again. 

Meg hesitated, then with childlike confidence that 
gained the miner’s entire fealty, “ Tell what you 
think is best,” she said. “ But we have a law case. 
You are a miner and know more of law than I do, 
so pray do not say any thing that will injure our 
side.” 

“ I won’t, missus. Yer ken trust me.” Then with 
vanity and admiration both enlisted, he hurried off 
to Deadwood, and before sunset had so described 
the “ murder o’ the pore ole man,” so harangued his 
brother miners, and inveighed against the “ robbery 
o’ the rich,” that, with very few exceptions, the 
whole mining population were, once and forever, 
“ For Oliver and DePew ! ” 

Feeling ran high. The gambling saloons were 
thronged with excited talkers, the bands played war- 
like airs, and gold being the nearest to Meg’s hair, 
there were so many nuggets taken to the jeweler’s 


DEAD WOOD IS DIVIDED!' 127 

for pins, and so many displayed by the promenaders 
on Main Street, that when toward night a horse 
raced into Deadwood, its rider called out to a crowd 
of fellows with shining badges : 

“ I say, boys, what’s the row ? Have you all 
turned women that you are stuck over with pins and 
jewelry ? ” 

‘‘Women?” one cried, and then before answer- 
ing called, “ Here’s three chairs for golden 
hairs ! ” which original poetry aroused such enthusi- 
asm that three times three the cheers were roared, 
silencing the noisy bands, while, tossing her hat on 
the back of her head, and leaning one elbow on the 
high Mexican saddle she rode man-fashion. Calamity 
Jane laughed until her white teeth gleamed in her 
dark face. 

She ceased laughing, listening earnestly when, 
crowding around, holding out their hands with the 
word “ shake,” the men told her of the attempted 
murder of Oliver, the explosion at the tunnel, the 
injury to the two assassins, and lastly, most enthusi- 
astically, of Meg herself. 

“ Thar she stays way up in thet ole cabin, cookin’ 
fer, an’ nussin’, an’ tendin’ that pore ole lonely man, 
as the rich is tryin’ ter rob. An’ not satisfied o’ thet, 
they declars thet thar’s suthin’ evil awaitin’ her hus- 
baiid, es she sez herself, es is a fust-class feller ! So es 
we wants ter know who’s fer us an’ who’s aginst us, 
why jest ’cause her hair’s thet nice yaller, we wears 
the nuggets o’ gold.” 

“That’s it, is it! ” And Calamity laughed again. 
“ So she’s a hero, even if she didn’t mean to be ! 
Here, boys,” she tossed a twenty-dollar gold piece 
into the crowd, “ let me buy one of those pins. I 
can’t wait to have one made — I m with you, heart 
and soul ! You may count on Calamity Jane ! ” 

She caught the pin thrown to her, fastened it in 
her hat, and shouting back : 

“Meet me at midnight at Madam Mustache’s. 


128 


CALAMITY JAKE. 


ril play for a hundred a hand ! ” put spurs to her 
horse and dashed out of town the way she had 
entered. 

“ She’s a wild ’un ! Man or ooman ? Who ken 
tell? Wi’ the face o’ a girl, an’ the strength o’ a 
man, an’ more darin’ than both on ’em tergither. 
But no badness in her, no meanness. That’s Calam- 
ity ! Here’s one fer her ! ” So agreed the men, and 
being in the mood for cheers, they gave her one, 
good and hearty. And then, “jest fer luck,’’ treated 
drinks, and held themselves ready to meet Calamity 
at the high game in the saloon of Madame Mus- 
tache at midnight. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


IN OLIVER’S CABIN. 

W HILE the miners were cheering her, Calamity, 
having cleared the town, turned her horse’s 
head toward the mountains, and over stones, loose 
rocks, jumping across gullies, on a trail none but 
Indians dared use, made her way toward the gulch 
where lay the Bullfinch. 

It was dark, for the moon was growing late of ris- 
ing. But darkness did not hinder the fearless rider 
and her good horse. They had taken many trips to- 
gether; trips of such great peril that the mere falling 
down a precipice, or being dashed to pieces by roll- 
ing rocks, seemed as nothing. 

These were dangers that did not enter the rider’s 
thoughts. As for the horse, when that light body 
was upon him, those firm hands guiding his reins, he 
had but one duty, obedience. 

An obedience gladly rendered. With proud neck 
arching, nostrils swelling, and sensitive ears erect or 
lying back, as he felt the danger he was braving for 
his rider’s sake, he obeyed her slightest touch. 

There’s something human in the sympathy of a 
horse for its constant rider. The beautiful bay that 
carried Calamity over so many miles seemed to 
know her very moods, and now as in the darkness, 
with head bended forward and eyes fixed in thought, 
she slackened the reins, the horse stepped softly, as 
if he would not be the one to disturb her. It was 
not pleasant meditation, for there was no smile on 
her pretty mouth, and every once in a while a great 
sigh swelled out her breast, until the twinkling light 


130 


CALAMITY JANE. 


of Oliver’s cabin shone before her like a star and dis- 
pelled her thoughts. She rose in her stirrups, kiss- 
ing her hand to it, then touching her horse with 
spurs, he bounded onward as she called : 

“ On, Desmond, old fellow. She waits for us 
there ! ” 

Far enough away, so as not to disturb Meg by 
unusual noise, she sprang to the ground, and taking 
off the bridle, said to the horse as one would to a 
faithful dog : “ Wait for me, Desmond,” left him to 

enjoy the sweet grass that in this unusually warm 
autumn, still abounded among the rocks. Loosen- 
ing the strap that secured her rifle to her shoulders, 
she leaned the weapon against a tree, on whqse 
branch hanging the bridle, she noiselessly climbed 
toward the cabin, where for three nights and two 
days Meg had watched beside the unconscious 
Oliver. 

The old man’s life hung by a thread, and Meg 
passed anxious wearing hours. Hours that but for 
this sacred duty, tending the sick, would have been 
fuller of agony. Nine days gone, and not one word 
from her husband. She was thankful for the weari- 
ness of her body, thankful for the constant at- 
tention the sick man needed, only these kept her 
from madness, as morning and evening one or other 
of the miners would call to bring her the news and 
the papers. 

“ He’s not yet come, but soon, I guess ! ” they 
would say, meaning her husband, and she, forcing her 
lips to smile, would answer: 

“ I know he will come as soon as he can.” 

She had not heard that badges were worn in her 
honor, nor that her name was lauded and abused by 
the different factions in the town. She did not know 
that her husband had been threatened, and that a 
party of men paraded the streets to protect him. 

She knew none of these things, nor that the most 
fortunate accident that could occur was DePew’s 


IN OLIVER’S CABIN. 


131 

delayed arrival. For, with his fearless, impetuous 
nature, a fight and a desperate one, would have re- 
sulted, had he ridden into Deadwood while feeling 
ran so high as during the two days following the 
tragic events at the Bullfinch. 

She knew none of this, while pale as a lily, she 
tenderly cared for the old man, who probably not 
even in infancy had been so watched, so nursed. 

Outside in the darkness Calamity looked at her 
through the small window. 

“ How soft and fair she is, so tender that I could 
crush her in my arms.'’ She hugged her arms about 
her own body as she spoke, catching her breath with 
a gasp and saying, “ So tender, that she has changed 
me ! My wildness is but sham, my laugh is hollow, 
my heart cries out for love — love ! ” 

She pressed her hands to her breast, forcing back 
a sob, she clinched her teeth, stepping away as she 
felt it bursting forth. 

It came, she curled her lips at it, forced a laugh 
over it, tossed her hat in the air and pressed her 
hand against her aching heart as she muttered bit- 
terly : 

“ Love ! love ! who will give it to a vagabond ? ” / 

Then again she went to the cabin, not trusting 
herself to look in the window, and tapped at the 
door, and asked, “ May I come in ? " 

The days and nights passed in Oliver’s cabin had 
taught Meg she had nothing to fear from even the 
roughest man in Deadwood. Her visitors had been 
so frequent, including the doctor with, his shining 
glasses, that she did not start or tremble at this 
knock or voice. 

Walking across the room she opened the door, and 
when she saw the dark face, hanging hair, and 
strange eyes of Calamity Jane, she did what perhaps 
no other woman would have done to that notorious 
character, “ Jane ! ” she exclaimed eagerly, clasping 
both hands, “ Jane, I am thankful to see you ! ” 


132 


CALAMITY JANE. 


Then, as Calamity whispered, Come out in the 
air,” she put her arms about the vagabond’s neck 
and leaning her head on her breast, wept in the 
most unheroic way. 

Calamity did not speak, did not make a sound, 
though her face was twitching with excitement she did 
not even tremble, as gently supporting the weeping 
Meg, she waited for a moment before saying softly : 

Sweet soul, dp not worry; your husband is safe 
and well. I came here to tell you — and to see you 
again,” she added. 

“ Safe ! ” at this relief Meg grew faint, staggered, 
would have fallen but for the strong, slender arm up- 
holding her. 

“ Rest here a moment, I will bring you water,” and 
Calamity led her to a rock near a tree, then running 
to the little creek, returned with a cup of water, just 
as the moon, peeping over the mountain, looked 
down on them, making Meg’s face whiter, with 
its silvery light, and throwing a halo around the 
slight figure of Calamity Jane, as she bended over 
her. 

Daylight and darkness. The two might have 
stood for the picture as thus close together, bound 
by one of those irresistible natural attractions, they 
were of each other the antipodes. 

Meg, gentle, timid, loving, whose strength was of 
spirit, of soul, and that wild, reckless creature, 
breaking laws as she would snap a straw, laughing at 
dangers that men would but care to face ; yet with a 
passionate heart;, calling out in the wilderness of her 
life. Tender too, for now, as Meg rose saying, “ I 
must go back to the cabin, I dare not leave him 
alone, come you with me, Jane? It may seem 
strange, yet so it is, that except my husband, no one 
touches my heart, rouses my interest, as you do, 
Jane ! ” She pressed her to her breast, “ Oh ! sweet 
soul !” Calamity shivered as the words came forth, 
and trembled as she caught Meg’s soft breath, and 


IN OLIVER'S CABIN. 1 33 

then, pulling herself away, kissed both of the white 
hands that Meg had clasped about hers. 

Side by side they walked the few steps, neither 
speaking until in the cabin, Meg having assured 
herself that Oliver was still comfortably resting. 
Calamity beckoned her to the door. 

“ Come where I can feel the air, see the stars,” 
she said. “ In my blood there is a wildness that 
abhors restraint.” 

And when Meg took the seat Calamity had pulled 
near, there came over the dark, upturned face a 
tenderness that made even the moon love to linger 
on it. 

She had thrown her hat to the ground, tossed 
back her long hair, and with her arms lying beside 
her, was grace itself, as she rested at Meg's feet. 

“Tell me, Jane,” asked Meg, “when was it you 
saw my husband } Where was he ? Will he soon 
be home ? ” 

One question followed too swift upon another for 
Calamity to interrupt. Nor did she attempt to, for 
with her strange eyes softened by feeling, and her 
pretty lips parted, she was content to look and listen. 
Even when Meg waited for answers, she had to rouse 
herself to speak, losing the languor of her pose as 
she folded her arms on her breast, and turning her 
eyes from Meg's face, looked into the night, frown- 
ing at some thought. 

But there was no vexation in the full voice when 
she replied : 

“ I did not say I saw him, but that I came to 
Deadwood to tell you he was well. The one who 
did see him, met him on the road, riding a much- 
jaded horse. For, without success, he had been 
seeking to catch up with the officer x:ommissioned 
by the court to measure off the Bullfinch ground. 
Catch up with him ! ” Calamity’s lip curled, her 
eyes flashed scorn. She sprang to her feet, clinching 
the hand she raised above her head. “ How could 


134 


CALAMITY JANE. 


he ever nave caught up to him, when rich gentlemen 
were taking him from camp to camp, keeping him 
by bribes from fulfilling his duty, until their tools 
could, by the taking off of that old man, give 
them the mine without contestants! Yet these are 
gentlemen ! These are honorable men ! These 
robbers, these murderers ! While I, who would 
rather burn off my hand than take from the poor, 
I am under a ban ; hunted, shot at, and if identified, 
sent to the penitentiary ! This is law! This — jus- 
tice ! ” 

The low, thrilling voice, the intense utterance, 
pierced Meg’s heart. She rose like one magnetized, 
came near to the dark figure, and at the last words, 
shuddering, put her hand on Calamity’s shoulder. 

“ Oh, not that ! not that ! ” she moaned. “ Dear 
Jane, do not commit crime. I can not rest if I must 
think of you as a criminal, hunted by the law’s 
officers.” 

“ Sweet soul ! ” Calamity was smiling as one 
might to reassure a child, “ do not wear out your 
peace worrying for me. Aha ! ” with a light laugh, 
“ be assured no officer of the law will catch me, any 
more than thus reaching out my hand I can catch 
and hold the wind.” 

“ But then the crime, dear Jane, the crime. Laws 
are for the protection of society, the advancement 
of civilization ; and to break them makes us crimi- 
nals to ourselves, to our God, even though by the 
courts we be not convicted.” 

Calamity frowned, her eyes flashed, she moved 
restlessly under the light hand resting on her shoul- 
der. She turned to speak, but biting her lip was 
silent, while Meg went on softly and slowly: 

“ You said once before, that for the repentant, for 
such as you, there was no home, no refuge. I would 
I could take you to mine. I would I could say, 
‘ Sister, what I have is thine as well.’ I can not do 
that just now — not just now. But it will come, 


IN OLIVER'S CABIN. 


135 


without a question or a doubt ! I believe that yet 
I can share with you what is mine. In the mean- 
time, there will be friends made for you. My hus- 
band will write to people far better off in this world’s 
wealth than we, who will be glad to help you ! 
Jane, dear Jane.” 

In her earnestness, Meg had clasped her hands, 
and Calamity, with arms folded on her breast, stood 
a step away, gazing at her, murmuring: 

“ Sweet soul ! Sweet, sweet soul ! So you have 
asked your husband to take me in, and he has 
refused. Sweet soul, I thank you ! And for him. 
Ha! ha I He has done Nwhat any other man would 
do. Perhaps were I in his place I might do it myself. 
I can not tell.” 

She pressed her hand to her head, as if to crush 
some thought,, and then spoke again, straightening 
herself proudly: 

“As for those rich friends who would parade me 
as a western curiosity, I want none of their help. 
To you, Meg DePew, I am humble, because before 
your pure soul, your truth and virtue, I bow almost 
in worship. But for the world that punishes crime, 
yet in secret is the greatest ^criminal ; to the rich, 
whose gold is amassed by wTonging some fellow- 
creature, either by deceitful bargaining or false state- 
ment ; for that world of Pharisees, I, Calamity Jane, 
feel but scorn ! For them, I say, I may be a vaga- 
bond, but I am no charlatan, no cheat, no liar ! 
Farewell, Meg! With your sweetness, your tender- 
ness, you unnerve me. You drive me from the life 
that with its perils amused me ; and yet, oh, angel, 
you can not give me what might bring to me peace — 

• f > ^ 

joy • 

She sprang away as if to leave, then came near to 
Meg, speaking hurriedly: 

“ Your husband will be in Deadwood within two 
days. He succeeded in finding the officer. He is 
well and in high spirits. Before you both there lies 


CALAMITY JANE. 


136 

the path of peace and happiness, and of all who 
desire good for you, there is not one who for it, to 
assure it to you, would sacrifice as much as I. 
Think of me sometimes, and believe, were the world 
as true, as good as you, I would not be Calamity 

J f t 

ane. 

“ You are not going away forever ! I shall see 
you again ! Oh, let me have another chance to 
speak with my husband ! ” pleaded Meg. 

Her weak hands held to Calamity, who, taking 
them, kissed them in the boyish way that seemed 
most natural to her. i 

“ I can not tell,” she said sadly. “ I may not see 
you again, yet I may. Strong as we believe our- 
selves, we are powerless when once we love ; and I 
do love you, more than Eve loved her paradise, 
more than a saint his heaven. Meg!” She threw 
her arms about her, straining her to her breast, “ My 
heaven, my paradise, farewell 1 ” 

Then, with a few light springs, she was out of 
sight. Whistling softly, her horse came to her, rub- 
bing his nose on her shoulder. 

“ Old fellow, we are both fools, for we both love 
what can never be ours.” She whispered the words 
while putting on his bridle, then, without noticing 
the tears that filled her eyes, she sprang to the sad- 
dle, put spurs to her horse, and more recklessly than 
she had ridden up, raced down the mountains, leap- 
ing gullies, risking her life at each dangerous pass. 
But for her, the dangers only steadied nerve, bring- 
ing a warm glow to her cheeks, a brilliancy to her 
eyes, that made them glitter like diamonds, when, 
walking into the saloon of Madame Mustache, she 
threw a handful of gold on the table, where the 
party awaited her. 

“I’m ready, boys,” she said, and as the clock 
struck twelve, Madame Mustache, the fat little 
French woman, proprietor of the place, began to deal 
the cards. 


IN OLIVER'S CABIN 


137 


She was one of the characters of Deadwood, this 
Madame Mustache, whose name was given because 
of the hirsute adornment to which most women 
object. Madame Mustache accepted hers as a 
species of beauty, for, attracting customers, it made 
her saloon one of the most successful in the camp. 

“ It do advertise me,” she would say, with her little 
French shrug, sweeping in the dollars and growing 
rich, and, like many rich, not caring how, only so she 
gained riches. 

She dealt the cards to-night in the high game 
Calamity introduced, winning, too, as Calamity gen- 
erally did, and then, with her recldess, free-handed 
way, tossing part of her winnings to the only married 
man of the party. For your wife,” she said. ‘‘ Re- 
member, for your wife,” and the donor, not being 
one to be trifled with, the wife made that much 
clear of this night of high games, while Calamity, 
having “ treated all round,” mounted her horse, called 

good-night,” and was soon out on the desolate 
plains. 

“ Whar do she go? Whar do she live ? How do 
she get all this money she throws round ? ” asked the 
men, who had congregated in a little group to see 
her off. 

“ What’s that ter yer? ” said a big fellow who had 
stopped too, and had admired Calamity’s pretty foot 
and ankle as she sprang to her saddle. “ She don’t 
take nothin’ o’ yer, do she ? An’ always a-treatin’ ! 
P’r’aps,” with a laugh, “p’r’aps she hev a gold mine 
out yonder that she keeps private.” 

No one answered, and presently the crowd dis- 
persed, for they were not ready to knock the chip 
off the intruder’s shoulder. 

The next afternoon the stage came in with news of 
the great robbery of the down coach a hundred miles 
out from Deadwood. The messenger was wounded, 
for the express company sent guards with its 
treasure box, which guards were called messengers. 


CALAMITY JANE. 


This messenger happened to be a plucky fellow, and 
would not surrender. He was about to be killed, 
when that dare-devil Charley called out : “ Pray leave 
him to me. Til settle that little difficulty.” He 
fired, and the messenger fell. The box was robbed, 
the passengers searched, but only when the robbers 
had disappeared did the passengers find out that the 
bullet from Charley’s rifle had been so nicely aimed, 
that it had grazed the head, cut off a piece of the 
ear, stunning the guard, but not seriously injuring 
him. 

He came to himself swearing vengeance against 
Charley. “ This time I recognized him, and the 
next time I’ll be quick enough to kill him,” he said 
to the driver, who replied : 

“Why, man, he saved your life. The others would 
have aimed at your heart.” But the messenger held 
to his resolution, claiming: 

“ Be that as it may, Charley dies by my hand.” 

A few moments later, hardly a half hour, the up 
coach was met, and thus brought the news to Dead- 
wood, where “ Charley’s ” exploits became the day’s 
topic. 

“A hunderd miles out ! Then Calamity couldn’t 
hev been thar!” said one of the men, with whom at 
midnight she had been playing cards. “ P’r’aps we’re 
wrongin’ her. P’r’aps she don’t belong to the band. 
At any rate, she’s a fust-class gal. I ain’t so sure 
but what I’d marry her ef she asked me, even ef she 
do go a-playin’ agent.” 

“ Gal ! How do yer know she’s a gal ? With her 
purty face and darin’ ways, she’s as much one as 
t’other,” his friend replied, and they both agreed 
that : 

“ Wal, wal ! She’s alius fair, so here’s to her.” 


CHAPTER XIV. 


A LONG RIDE. 

I T was a long, a tedious ride, upon which, bidding 
Meg to be of “ Good cheer,” DePew started. He 
looked back to see her face before he turned off 
Main Street into the mountain road, that led to 
various camps, which, borrowing some of Deadwood’s 
glory, had started into active life. 

He had made no inquiries before leaving Dead- 
wood, being too clever to let his plans be known. 
They were suspected, however, for when he arrived 
at Sunset, where the officer was reported to be, he 
had gone fifty miles off to a ranch, and when that 
was reached, he had just left. And so for six days 
DePew followed the officer, believing himself be- 
fooled, and yet unable to gain reliable information. 
And in a wild country like this, equally unable to 
prevent the spiriting away of the man whose services 
were so indispensable to him, it was a very expen- 
sive trip, for his horse soon gave out. Indeed, there 
were few horses that could stand the long stretches 
between camps. On the seventh morning, having 
by a strategam learned that the officer had gone to 
Rapid City to report upon a claim under litigation, 
DePew, with a fresh horse, started for the destined 
point. He had always believed himself a judge of 
horseflesh, a match for any jockeying trick; but 
when ten miles on his journey, the strong-looking, 
well-made animal he had bought utterly failed, and 
taken with cramps, rolled over in the sand, he felt 
that not only had he been fooled, but that he was 
in a predicament to make even a Job lose patience, 


140 


CALAMITY JANE. 


Ten miles from anywhere ! Sand under foot, sand 
flying in clouds about him, sand obscuring even the 
sky, as, whirled by the wind it raised itself in suffo- 
cating pillars, whose ambition was to bury him out 
of sight. 

“ Well ! ” he exclaimed, when a momentary lull in 
the tempest of sand and wind enabled him to clear 
his eyes from the dust which seemed to have chosen 
them for a permanent resting-place, “ this is a po- 
sition where swearing is too tame and weak for the 
expression of what a fellow feels ! Here, you dis- 
appointing beast, get up and carry me at least back 
to your master's, for his you are, never mine again. 
The scoundrel, to sell such a horse to a man to cross 
a desert ! The law should put him in the peniten- 
tiary for life. The law ! ” — with scorn — “ I am grow- 
ing disgusted with my profession, for there are so 
many turns, quibbles and outlets for thieves in the 
law, that those it punishes are generally the least 
guilty. What will the law do to those men who 
have been robbing the Bullfinch perhaps of hundreds 
of thousands, stealing from an honest old fellow? 
What will the law do to them ? Nothing! We’ll 
be lucky if we can force the officer to measure the 
ground, and keep the rest of it from their greedy 
fingers. Talk about road agents and highway rob- 
bers ! I think they are the better fellows. For my 
part, I’d rather join the road agents than do as those 
men have done; or sell to a stranger such a worth- 
less brute as that. There’s something daring about 
those agents. But villains like these, that can hide 
themselves behind subterfuges, are devilish ! ” 

Seated on a mound of sand, before him nothing 
but the desert and that kicking, rolling horse, DePew 
had a fine opportunity for moralizing. There were 
only two things he could do, moralize or foot back 
the ten miles he had already gained, and thus have 
lost time. Hoping each moment that the horse 
^yould wear out his colic, and be fit for travel, DePew 


A LONG RIDE. 


141 

might have moralized ad infinitum^ but that just as 
he had delivered his opinion aloud, with a decided 
verdict in favor of what he had always bitterly op- 
posed — highway robbery — there sounded near him a 
merry laugh. 

Robinson Crusoe was not more ready to welcome 
his Man Friday than the aristocratic Charles DePew 
any waif the desert might bring to him. Turning 
quickly at the laugh, he saw seated on a horse a 
young fellow whose age might be anywhere from 
fifteen to twenty, for, covered with dust, all that was 
visible was the boyish figure, beardless face and blue 
eyes. Clad in canvas, where blue gleamed here and 
there through the heavy coating of alkali, he was 
probably a rancher’s son. But the horse he rode 
was so fine an animal no dust could hide his beauty. 
DePew looked at the glorious creature with desireful 
eyes, as he said pleasantly to his rider : 

“Young man, you have never been taught your 
Bible, or you would not laugh at the misfortunes of 
another.” 

“And you, sir,” said the young fellow, saucily, 
“ if you have learned yours, should be careful how 
you ‘scandalize little ones.’ I heard what you said 
about those whom the Westerners politely call 
‘agents,’ and the Easterners ‘ highway robbers.’” 

As soon as he had spoken, possibly uncertain 
how his words would be taken, or else with youth- 
ful vanity anxious to show his horsemanship, the 
new-comer put spurs to his horse, making him 
curvet, and in each movement showing off his fine 
points as he danced around the miserable-looking 
animal that, over his colic, stood with dejected head 
nearly to the ground, representing in melancholy 
satire DePew’s sole means of locomotion. The con- 
trast between the two horses was so great that DePew 
laughed ; at which signal of amiability, with a wild, 
shrill cry of “ whoop ! ” the boy raised himself in his 
stirrups, backed his horse, and calling “Now!” 


142 


CALAMITY JANE. 


bounded over the sick animal that stood between 
him and DePew, and there for a moment held his 
horse motionless on his hind feet in the most diffi- 
cult of equestrian poses. 

So easily and gracefully had he accomplished the 
feat that he well-merited DePew’s hearty “ Bravo ! ” 
at which, with a laugh, he doffed his cap, bowed low, 
and kissed his hand. 

“ Now we’re at the Great American Circus! See 
what a ring one has here,” he cried, as if to cover 
the boyish vanity sparkling in his eyes ; and then 
springing to the ground with arms folded, leaned 
against the beautiful brute he had been riding. 

On his feet he appeared so much smaller and 
younger that when, with an assumption of mannish- 
ness, he looked up and said, “ DePew, you are a right 
good fellow,” DePew bowed gravely, hiding his smile 
at the youngster’s airs, as he said : 

“You have the advantage in knowing my name, 
but even without learning yours I am pleased, sir, 
to meet with your favor.” 

Just then, of all things, DePew desired to pro- 
pitiate the boy, for thus he might be able to hire 
that fine animal, or induce him on it to go to the 
rancher’s who had cheated him in his morning’s 
purchase, and bring him out a substitute for that mis- 
erable beast hardly able to stand even now. 

The boy must have divined his thought, for still 
aping man’s way, he went on ; 

“Yes, a right good fellow. Now, you want my 
horse to ride to Rapid City, yet though you are much 
stronger and taller than I, and we are alone, you 
don’t attempt to take him. I’ll make a bargain with 
you. Catch me, and I will lend you this friend of 
mine. You can start at once and bring back the 
officer to Deadwood.” 

With head to one side he awaited an answer, 
while DePew, rather startled at the fact that his pri- 
vate business was certainly public as far as this boy 


A LONG RIDE. 


143 


was concerned, began to wonder who he was. He 
could not remember any one resembling him, neither 
in Deadwood nor at the ranches or camps which he 
had sometimes visited. While he was thinking over 
the matter the boy grew impatient. 

“Hurry up,” he said. “You want to get in. 
Catch me, take the horse, I will follow on yours, 
and you will be in time.” He was twirling his cap 
in his hand, boy fashion, and with his curly head 
bared, seemed scarcely out of childhood. 

“ Look here, youngster,” DePew laughed at him, 
for there was something so mirth-provoking in the 
little fellow, “ it seems to me you are trying to 
tempt me to become a highway robber.” And then 
seriously, “ I don’t know whose horse you are rid- 
ing, nor how any one would trust a child like you 
to ride over a desert. But if you have a right to 
hire me that horse, I will pay you whatever price 
you ask, and if in boyish folly you have taken what 
does not belong to you, I will still pay you a hand- 
some sum, ride the horse to Rapid City, see that it 
is returned to its owner, and that no questions are 
asked.” 

The boy’s answer to this was a burst of laughter 
so hearty that the tears stood in his eyes — 

“ O — ho ! O — ho ! ” he shouted, holding his sides, 
doubling over,with laughter until his hat dropped 
at his feet. “O — ho! O — ho! If I live through 
this, laughter can never kill me.” 

“ Boy, I am sorry to see such a nice little fellow 
find amusement in a possible theft.” DePew spoke 
very seriously, for, taking in consideration the child’s 
costume, appearance, and general education, he had 
decided he was a school-boy off on a frolic. That 
he could afford to ride, or if even the child of 
wealth, would be allowed to ride, such a magnifi- 
cent animal, he did not believe. Yet the horse 
knew him, was even now poking his nose into the 
boy’s face. He might be the groom, he might be 


144 


CALAMITY JANE. 


any thing. But whatever he was, it certainly was 
out of place that a proposition such as had been 
made, should be received with such uproarious 
laughter. 

The boy however thought differently, for he 
laughed and laughed, until with a sigh, “There, Fm 
laughed out,” he exclaimed. And then to DePew: 
“ How serious you are. It is thus always in life. 
What makes one laugh brings grief to another. 
Now it has been rather a serious matter to you that 
for six days you have been chasing over the coun- 
try after a man who has always just left the place 
where you hoped to find him ! Yet he laughs over 
it. We two just roared over it ! It was really very 
very funny as he told it.” 

“ Where ? ” asked DePew, frowning, and biting at 
his mustache. 

“At Rapid City this morning,” coolly replied the 
boy. 

“At Rapid City ! This morning ! Why Rapid 
City is fifteen miles away, and,” looking at his 
watch, “ it is now only half past eight. How could 
you have come that distance by this hour, and yet 
have seen and talked with the officer.” DePew 
was growing mystified. 

“ Perhaps I hurried out specially to see you. Per- 
haps I wanted a fellow to have fair play.” The 
boy winked his eyes roguishly, looking as pretty as 
a mischievous child. Then drawing himself up and 
holding down his chin in- pompous fashion, he went 
on : 

“ But to convince you, I will tell you how nicely 
your opponents had it all arranged. You left Dead- 
wood seven mornings ago. In the stable two host- 
lers were having a dispute over a matter in which 
the officer you sought was interested. ‘ Fll tell 
him if I have to walk to the camp myself,’ said one, 
mentioning the camp. Then you, Charles DePew, 
Started for that camp. That hostler followed . you, 


A LON’G RIDE. 


145 


headed you off, warned the men who employed him 
for the work, and the officer was taken to another 
place, distant fifty miles. When you arrived he had 
just left in the morning. His destination, was, how- 
ever, told to you, and before dawn you started, 
determined to be there. Yet you missed him ! And 
so it has been day in and day out. They were too 
many for you ! They knew the country ; you are 
a stranger. I am sorry for you. For so it will be 
again, unless you can get this horse which is mine, 
as surely as your wife is yours.” 

DePew, who had been listening as the boy re- 
lated correctly his annoying experiences, started 
when his wife was mentioned. 

“ Child,” he said, sternly, “who you are, or how 
you have learned all you know is a mystery to me. 
But learn this, that a man’s wife is so sacred, that 
no stranger must allude lightly to her.” 

Unintentionally DePew stepped nearer the boy, 
when without effort his horse took a side spring, 
the boy moving backward with him, and both were 
at the same distance as formerly ; that is within 
reach of DePew’s outstretched hand, but no nearer. 

“ I intended no disrespect to Mrs. DePew.” There 
was no laughter now in the boy’s eyes. “ When I 
said this horse was as much mine, I wanted it known 
that as she is bound to you by her devotion, so is 
this horse to me. I will prove it. There, take him 
if you can ! Ride him to Rapid City in time to 
catch the officer. He is the only horse that can 
make that distance in time, and the officer before an 
hour will have left that camp.” 

He stepped aside, leaving the horse for DePew, 
who, accustomed to horses, came gently toward 
him. The beautiful animal, for in spite of the dust 
that dulled and streaked his smooth skin, he was 
most beautiful, raised his head, looked at DePew, 
perfectly motionless until he reached for the bridle, 
when with a quick spring the horse stood four feet 


146 


CALAMITY JANE, 


away. This repeated several times, DePew shrugged 
his shoulders, saying : 

“Child, I have no time for tricks. Lend me your 
horse and I will pay what you like.” 

“Well,” said the boy, his eyes again twinkling as 
he leaned against the horse that had come back to 
him and was rubbing its head on the hand he held 
out caressingly, “ Well, you’re such a big fellow, and 
I am so little, then you are active too and strong, 
just catch me to humor me and you shall mount 
this horse, to ride which, no money could buy for 
any one.” 

It was such a simple thing to catch the boy within 
the length of his arm, and to ride that horse was so 
necessary that DePew, who was both athletic and 
strong, measured the distance, and by this . time pre- 
pared for the boy’s tricks, held his arms down, and 
without warning, sprang upon the spot where the 
boy stood. 

The boy was not there, however, for quicker even 
than DePew he had clasped the neck of his horse 
and off shot the creature, carrying his master so far 
away that they were hidden in the dust. 

If ever a man felt like swearing it was DePew, and 
that he restrained himself was due not to his own 
manly self-control, for doubtless no manly fellow 
would have thought the less of him had he burst 
forth in a good volley of healthy oaths. But some- 
how, as his anger rose, he thought of his wife, of her 
weary days alone and how uncomplainingly she bore 
them. He knew this, and with this knowledge of 
her there came a shame that he should do less with 
the ills that fell to him. So he mounted the horse 
that was as jaded as if it had measured fifty in place 
of ten miles. 

“ Well,” said DePew, “a man may fail, but I sup- 
pose there’s a sort of comfort in doing one’s duty. 
It is trying though, to be made a plaything of by a 
child. I suppose I shall miss the officer after all.” 


A LONG RIDE, 


147 


He had not ridden more than a few' yards when 
dashing up to him came the boy. “ Off, youngster, IVe 
had enough of you," said DePew, waving him aside. 

“No, you haven’t," replied the boy. “Don’t be 
ridiculous. I came back to lend you my horse," 
then pulling out a pistol and pointing it at his own 
breast, “ There ! I swear to shoot myself unless he 
lets you mount him," he sprang to the ground 
holding the pistol still pointed to his breast. 

“ Take it away, child, don’t play with fire-arms," 
said DePew. And then when the boy kept it at his 
breast saying, melo-dramatically, “ Mount the horse, 
catch the officer, or my blood be upon your head," 
waving one hand in the air as scenic heroes do, 
DePew, beginning to believe that the little fellow’s 
brain was turned by novel reading, hesitatedto leave 
him on the desert. Still the offer of the horse was 
very tempting, the necessity to reach Rapid City 
very great. 

“ Young man ! " he said, “ I do not like to borrow 
your animal, and leave you with that unfortunate 
one ; you are small and light, couldn’t you mount 
behind? " 

“ I could, but I won’t ! " the boy replied stoutly 
and with a touch of impatience, that made him again 
look pretty as a willful child, “ Hurry up ! I’m tired 
of holding this pistol." 

“ All right," said DePew, “ I accept your kindness, 
I may never be able to repay it, but I trust I will, so 
tell me your name ! " 

“ My name," the little fellow hesitated, and watch- 
ing his blushing face, DePew had quite decided he 
was some runaway college boy, whose parents might 
even now be searching for him. He was meditating 
how after this Bullfinch case was over and he had 
some leisure, he would seek out this young scamp, 
and persuade him to return to his home and duties. 
When suddenly the roguish blue eyes were raised to 
his as the youngster coolly said: 


148 


CALAMITY JANE. 


“You want to know my name? I have so many 
I was hesitating which to give you. I guess Charley 
'11 do. Yes, call me Charley. Call pretty loud if 
you want me to answer. Good-by, don't waste time 
thinking of me, but ride that friend of mine at full 
speed, turn him loose just outside of Rapid, go to 
the saloon-keeper, say you are Mr. DePew and you 
will find a team ready. Hurry or you’ll miss the of- 
ficer," and without giving DePew a chance for reply, 
calling to his horse “ Be off ! " he bounded away, 
carrying DePew so rapidly and delightfully, that 
pleasure surmounted all other feelings. 

Arrived at Rapid City, he fastened the bridle so it 
could not entangle his feet, and setting the horse 
free, saw him start off for the desert as light of foot 
and plenty of wind as if but just out of the stable. 

DePew’s appearance at the low building called 
saloon, caused considerable consternation to three 
men who drinking at a table did not notice him, 
until putting his hand on the shoulder of one, he 
said sternly : 

“ You are the officer commissioned by the court to 
measure the Bullfinch ground. The injunction de- 
pends upon this measurement, and my client's prop- 
erty upon that injunction. You know this as well as 
I do, and that you have been paid to keep out of 
the way. I have found you now, sir, and you never 
leave my sight until you have done your duty." 

The man who had turned pale, regained his color 
as the two others crowded against DePew, exclaim- 
ing, “ See here, this is a free country. No bullying 
here!" 

DePew, pushing the men back, grasped the officer's 
arm. “ Come with me," he said, “ or I will prose- 
cute you, and make you rue the day you trifled with 
your duty. Come ! " 

The officer, a small, timid man, would probably 
have gone with DePew, when the two stout fellows 
who had been drinking threw themselves upon him, 


A LONG RIDE. 


149 


and a mel^e ensued that, despite DePew's forcible 
and well-directed blows, might have terminated ad- 
versely to him, for pistols were pulled, and, winking 
at the officer, one of the men called, “ We’ll look 
arter him,” when the door was opened by a nice 
looking young fellow, who, turning the lock, put the 
key in his pocket. He was just in time to grab a 
pistol that one of DePew’s assailants was aiming at 
his back, while in front the other was being con- 
siderably punished by DePew’s fist. 

“ You can’t kill men in my saloon ! ” said he who 
had just entered, and, pointing the pistol at the man 
from whom he had captured it, he called to DePew : 

“Draw yours, sir! Don’t trifle with such mur- 
derers.” 

Finding two armed men opposing them, the two 
roughs made out of the rear entrance, leaving the 
officer of the court to DePew. Turning to the man 
whose aid had been so opportune, he said : 

“ Thank you. I believe I owe my life to you. 
That fellow had gotten behind without my per- 
ceiving him. He would have killed me if you had 
not entered and come to my help.” 

“It’s nothing, sir — nothing,” replied the saloon- 
keeper. And then, “ I believe your name’s De- 
Pew.” 

“ It is,” said DePew. 

“ Well, sir, the team’s ready, and if you’ll take my 
advice, you’ll get off at once. The driver’s armed ; 
have your pistol convenient.” 

This, whispered into DePew’s ear, took his 
thoughts back to the boy he had met on the desert. 

After thanking the saloon-keeper, “ I seem to have 
had friends,” he said. 

“ Oh, yes, sir 1 ” the man replied, smiling with 
pleasure. “ Charley looked after you.” 

When DePew put his hand in his pocket to pay 
a deposit on the team, his money was refused. 

“ No,” said the man ; “ we trust Charley’s friends. 


150 ' CALAMITY JANE, 

You can settle with the driver at the end of the 
route.” 

“Who is this young boy you call Charley?” 
asked DePew, astonished at the influence he seemed 
to possess. 

“ Boy ! ” The saloon-keeper laughed. “ He may 
be a boy, for all I know, but if he is, he’s the 
brightest, bravest, daringest fellow we, any of us, 
have seen. It’s well to have him on your side, sir.” 

“ I am glad, then, to be for once lucky.” DePew 
laughed, shook hands with the man who had be- 
friended him, and, turning to the officer, who had 
stood a few feet off during the low conversation, 
“ Come ! ” he said. 

They took their places in a light wagon, that, 
drawn by two excellent horses, stood at the door, 
and, in good spirits, DePew turned his face home- 
ward toward Meg. 

They were making excellent time. The officer, 
who was decidedly the worse for liquor, had slipped 
to the bottom of the wagon asleep, and DePew 
climbing over the seat took the place beside the 
driver. 

“ I’m glad you’ve come, sir,” he said, “ for I want 
to give you Charley’s advice. He thought, being as 
how this is such a wild country, that murders and 
such like can be conveniently put upon the road 
agents and the true villains left to escape. Not 
saying as how the road agents ain’t villains, sir. 
But as I was a-telling you, Charley thought that 
since so many are against you, that we had better 
not go the regular road, but strike off through the 
plains. It’ll take three days to reach Deadwood by 
this route. But if you take it, I can leave you up 
near the Bullfinch Mine ; you can have it measured 
and every thing settled before your man sees Dead- 
wood, or Deadwood sees him.” 

“Very well,” said DePew, more and more sur- 
prised as he heard more of “ Charley,” and learned 


A LONG RIDE. 


151 

how his own business was known, and luckily fop 
him sympathized with by these strangers. He was 
tempted to ask again who this “ Charley ” could be, 
with the face and person of a lad of seventeen and 
the good sense of an old man. But he concluded 
that, dependent as he now was upon the driver’s 
services, it would be poor policy to let him suppose 
that he knew less of “Charley” than “Charley*’ 
knew of him. 

They had left the main road and were soon driv- 
ing across a trackless desert. But, as the wagon 
was most comfortable, the horses in fine condition, 
and the driver never uncertain, the rfding was not 
unpleasant. 

Two nights camping out, and on the afternoon of 
the tenth day since his departure DePew looked 
down a mountain gulch and saw in the distance 
Oliver’s little cabin, near the pretty creek. 

“ We have arrived,” he said to the ofificer, who 
had hardly yet sobered up, and required as much 
help as a woman to reach the ground. 

DePew had just steadied him on his feet when the 
driver' saying, “ Good-by,” whipped up his horses 
and started off. 

“Stop !” called DePew, “ I’ve not yet paid ” 

“ Charley’ll see to it,” the man called back, driv- 
ing away unconcernedly, while DePew feeling very 
much as if he were in a dream, or taking part in a 
fairy pantomime with a godmother named “ Char- 
ley,” made his way to Oliver’s cabin. 


CHAPTER XV. 


THE BULLFINCH IS MEASURED. 

TTOW glad the old fellow will be to see me,” 

11 thought DePew, turning every once in a 
while to assure himself that that very valuable offi- 
cer was keeping up with him. Coming to where 
the trails branched, one going to the creek near the 
cabin, the other to the “ Bullfinch,” DePew took 
the latter, and chancing to see a miner walking leis- 
urely up the gulch, he called to him,- deciding that 
thus to secure an unprejudiced witness to the meas- 
urement of Oliver’s claim would be of use, should 
the officer decamp, or attempt any after villainies. 

“Are you out of work ? ” he asked the man when he 
came up to where he had stopped awaiting him. 

“ I be,” was the answer. 

“ I will pay you for the day’s work, if you will 
stay here with me and witness this officer’s measure- 
ments.” 

“ Sartain, sartain,” the miner replied. 

DePew thought the man looked curiously at him, 
but, anxious to be through the business in hand, he 
did not give any attention to the expression of a face 
that had no interest for him. 

He was tempted to enter the tunnel and speak to 
Oliver, but concluded the outside measurement 
had better be made, as a few moments, more or less, 
would not matter much to the old man. 

With compass on the ground and tape-line out, 
the Bullfinch was measured from stake to stake. 
Fifteen hundred feet long from east to west, six 
hundred feet wide from north to south. 


THE bullfinch IS MEASURED. 153 

The tunnel was run in on the claim from the west 
end which opened on the gulch. 

Foot by foot DePew, the miner and the officer 
made the measurement. The officer making the 
entry in his book, DePew copying into his, then 
reading to the miner, he made his mark in both 
books as witness. 

“Now for the inside measurement!” DePew ex- 
claimed, his content shining in his face. For now 
he would have this tedious affair settled, see his wife, 
ride over to the camp where the judge was holding 
court in chambers, have the injunction granted, and 
afterward the trial, which would soon follow, 
was but a ceremony, for surely was success theirs. 

So full was he of good-humor that he almost 
shouted out to Oliver, restrained from it solely by 
the necessity to keep up legal dignity before these 
two who were with him. He was smiling with pleas- 
ure expecting to see the face of Oliver looking at 
him over the barricade. 

Therefore, on entering the tunnel, it was some- 
thing of a surprise to find the camp raised, and the 
old man gone. He checked the question which came 
to his lips. Why should he ask questions of this 
miner to have them ridiculed in Deadwood ? He 
was no boy to yield to curiosity, or lack control of 
anxiety, for he was anxious to know what motive 
could have induced Oliver to desert his post. 

He gave no sign of anxiety, however, while again 
holding the compass and tape-line, as on the outside, 
with the officer he measured the tunnel. Two 
hundred feet in they passed the excavated chamber, 
which was then proven to be on the Bullfinch 
ground. So it was entered and witnessed on the 
books of the officer and DePew. 

“ Now let us measure the width, and you will see 
that when the ‘ Stillwater Company ’ made the 
curve in its tunnel, they began their trespass on an- 
other’s property.” 


154 


CALAMITY JANE. 


Together they measured out the feet ; five, ten ; 
but here they were stopped by a confused mass of 
rocks that entirely filled up the tunnel. 

“ The powder ! It has been fired ! ” 

DePew’s astonished whisper reached the officer, 
who, though living in a mining-camp, was unaccus- 
tomed to mines. Befogged now with the liquor he 
had been drinking, he started at the word “ powder.” 

“ Let me out ! ” he cried, trying to pass DePew, 
who grabbed his arm with the more emphatic than 
elegant exclamation : 

“ Fool ! ” 

“ Let me out ! I say ; I won’t stay in a mine with 
powder ! ” 

“You will stay in this mine until you have done 
your duty,” was DePew’s determined answer ; which, 
with his strong grip, finally brought the officer to 
terms. 

Quickly dispatching’ the work, he hurried away, 
and was down the gulch, while at the tunnel’s mouth 
DePew paid the miner for his time. 

“Who’s cabin is that?” he asked, for the first 
time noticing the cabin that stood near the “ Still- 
water ” tunnel, and had about it evidences of occu- 
pancy. 

“What!” said the miner surprised. “So yer 
knows nothin’ bout it then ? Wal I was thinkin’ that 
fer a young man you took things cool. You asks 
about that cabin ? That’s the ‘ Stillwater ’ cabin, 
whar two men shot at ole Oliver.” 

“Shot Oliver!” DePew turned pale, for Oliver 
had made no mistake, he had taken a liking, and a 
great one, to his honest old client. 

“ Shot him ! Wal I should say so.” The miner 
resumed his story with evident relish. “ But that 
ain’t the worst o’ it. For the mine war fired, both 
o’ the miners war hurted, one is a-dyin’ now, and it 
be said in Deadwood that the best thing Oliver ken 
do is ter die too. Yes, just as soon as it is settled 


THE BULLFINCH IS MEASURED. 155 

he’s a-goin’ ter live, the ‘ Stillwater Company ’ is 
a-goin’ ter bring suit agin him fer obstructin’ thar 
workin’s an' killin’, or tryin’ ter kill two o’ thar men. 
Feelin’ run mighty high down ter camp, it’s a little 
easier to-day, kinder wore itself out, but the rich 
men’s jest a-waitin’ ter see how Oliver gets on.” 

‘‘Where’s Oliver? ” asked DePew. 

“ Up ter cabin ! ” 

“ Thanks, and good-by,” said DePew, thinking as 
he hurried along, “ My poor Meg, what you must 
have suffered ! What must you now be suffering ! 
I’ll be soon with you, and you will forgive these few 
moments that I must devote to Oliver.” At the 
cabin door he paused a moment to compose himself, 
then entering softly, saw in the Sister of Charity at- 
tending the wounded, his own Meg. 

It was a joyful meeting, joyful, despite the sick 
man on the bed. And he, as if not to mar the hap- 
piness of these two, while yet they were clasped in 
each other’s arms, awoke from his long unconscious- 
ness. 

For awhile he lay, weakly trying to remember 
how he came to be ill, and why “ Charley was hug- 
gin’ his wife in this yer cabin.” Then suddenly the 
facts came back to him, and he gave a weak chuckle. 

“ It war all fer a drink o’ thet derned creek. Two 
on ’em ! Both fired ! But I calkerlates I jest piled 
thet thar tunnel so full o’ rocks thet they ain’t able 
ter hev much more taken out.” 

Oliver’s feeble voice brought both husband and 
wife to his side. They welcomed him back to life 
with joy: DePew telling him the Bullfinch was 
measured and the case as good as won, and Meg 
cautioning silence. While, with tears running down 
his furrowed cheeks, old Oliver caught both of their 
hands, and, holding them in a pretty firm grip, for 
one so reduced by illness, exclaimed : 

“Wall wall I hez got frien’s arterall, frien’sarter 
all ! ” 


156 CALAMiTY JANE. 

While they were still in this happy group, Dr. 
Baile made his call. He had brushed that straggling 
beard, and burnished up his glasses, hoping to im- 
press Meg, whose attractions increased until he had 
begun to grow quite sentimental. His sentimental- 
ity received a sad blow now, as Meg’s face, radiant 
with happiness, on his entrance raised itself from 
her husbands shoulder; and DePew, still holding 
his arm about her, extended his hand, saying : 

“ Dr. Baile, my wife has told me of your kindness 
to our friend.” 

The doctor turned as red as his beard. It was a 
blow, a great blow, that instead of being a deserted 
wife, whom in time he might have been- able to con- 
sole, Mrs. DePew was both happy and beloved. 
The doctor felt particularly aggrieved, for he had 
now come to render her a service. Still he was not 
ill-natured, was easily appeased, though a trifle vain ; 
so, when DePew’s welcome was followed by : 

“We hope you will soon pull Oliver through, and 
that you will consider yourself one of our friends, 
and come to see us when you can spare the time. 
We don’t forget kindness, do we, Meg? ” Dr. Baile 
forgave cruel fat®, that had made this lovely creat- 
ure for another ; and, thanking the lucky husband, 
accepted his invitation. 

When his patient had been looked after, and 
ordered absolute quiet. Dr. Baile requested DePew 
to walk out for a few moments’ conversation. 

“ I will be back, love,” DePew said to his wife. 

Meg watched the two from the window, until her 
husband called her to him and said : 

“ One of those miners is dying. I am going to 
take his deposition.” He hurried away with the 
doctor, whose admiration for Mrs. DePew had been 
turned to practical use. For Dr. Baile, as well as 
the miner, had heard threats against Oliver ; threats 
which portended something more than the speaking 
of idle words, as they were made by those citizens 


THE BULLFINCH IS MEASURED. 157 

of the camp who had the most influence. Having 
been first summoned to attend the Stillwater miners, 
and Oliver having no visible attractions, it is possible 
Dr. Bade might not have felt called upon to put 
forth special effort to protect an old man, who had 
planned, and apparently executed, a wholesale mur- 
der. But Mrs. DePew’s loveliness and gentle bear- 
ing, Mrs. DePew’s interest in that “poor old man,” 
added to the fact that her husband had probably 
deserted her, gone no one knew whither, put a very 
different aspect on the affair. 

The miner who espoused her cause and raised 
Deadwood for her protection, was no more determ- 
ined to serve her, than Dr. Baile, with his straggly 
beard and shining glasses. 

He believed that the man whose body had been 
so torn could not live, and finding him to be of not 
unkindly nature, and by sufferings aroused to peni- 
tence, he encouraged him to relieve his mind of 
what seemed to oppress it. 

The result was a whispered prayer for a priest 
and a lawyer. 

“ If I be dyin’ I’d like ter make a statement when 
— when Jhn s asleep,” he whispered. 

Jim’s sleep was soon managed by Dr. Baile, who 
sending some one to Deadwood for the first preacher 
that was struck, went over to Oliver’s cabin to tell 
Mrs. DePew, hoping to win from her a little personal 
gratitude for this service, which he had intended to 
convey to her, in a neat speech he had prepared, was 
done solely for her sake. 

Recovered from the shock given him by the cer- 
tainty of Meg’s happy marriage. Dr. Baile, won over 
by DePew’s courtesy, determined to carry out his 
part of benefactor. 

The two entered the little cabin, where asleep, 
blinded forever, one man was struggling back to life. 
And the other, whose pains of body mortification had 
stopped, was trying to make preparation for that 


158 CALAMITY JANE. 

eternal world, which, ever near, is yet farthest from 
our thoughts. 

“ I knows you, sir,” he said faintly in reply to 
DePew’s kindly words that he was sorry to see him 
in this condition — “ I is sorry for myself. But sence 
it’s a choice o’ bein’ crippled for life, o’ bein’ ended, I 
ain’t grieved ter go. Afore I goes I wants yer ter 
write down what I says, but ter be kinder keerful 
not to put in any thin’ as ’ll make it worse for him,” 
turning his eyes toward the bed where slept the 
blinded Jim. 

“Fust, we two corned up ter this cabin havin’ 
taken oath to kill ole Oliver. 

“Second, bein’ the best shot, an’ alius hatin’ to be 
crippled myself, I believes ef he dies, I killed him, 
’cause I aimed at his heart. 

“ Third, I don’t so much as surmise that the ole 
man meant to harm either on us, or any body, fer 
he told us thet the mine war packed with giant, 
it would hev ter be fired to prevent work, an’ he 
giv’ the warnin’ ter save life. Moreover he hed a 
sign written. I ken read, an’ I read it ter all the fel- 
lers, warnin’ us not ter enter. An’ ter prove that he 
had no malice agin us, nor no evil ter none, he said 
he’d give us a job. when he got his legal rights. 

“ Fourth, we shot him at night, when he stole out 
ter git a drink. We sarched his cabin an’ lost a heap 
o’ time talkin’ afore we started down, so war just 
thar ter catch the blast.” Very faintly spoken, but 
each word clear, the deposition was made, signed, 
witnessed, before the priest entered. 

“ I war alius well brought up,” said the dying man 
to DePew, as if apologizing for his weakness in 
wanting at this last hour a man of God. 

With kind expressions they left him with the 
priest who had been trying to do good work in this 
wild camp. An hour or so later the miner was dead, 
and the publication a few days afterward of his dying 
deposition created a revulsion in favor of Oliver. 


THE BULLFINCH IS MEASURED. 159 

He became the hero. His virtues and persever- 
ance were extolled, and when later on the case was 
called and Oliver, pale, thin, and crippled, was 
helped into court, the crowd of spectators gave him 
a rousing welcome, and what was more to the point, 
the judge rendered the decision in his favor. 

There was no prosecution of the murderers, for the 
crime could not be traced beyond the two miners, 
one of whom was buried and the other had disap- 
peared almost immediately on the deposition of his 
partner. 

The rich company of “The Stillwater” held up 
their heads and were honored of men. No one 
would dare to impute such an offense to them ! It 
is possible DePew might have been guilty of such 
foolhardiness, but to impute without proving would 
have been weak and useless ; and in examining into 
the matter he found the proving of his belief would 
be impossible. 

“Wal,” said Oliver, who, still disabled by his 
wounds, had become a regular member of DePew’s 
family, “ wal, jest let ’em slip. We has the mine. 
We’ll soon be rich, an’ dern ’em, as it turns out, they 
ain’t got no good of it. Not even the satisfaction o’ 
bein’ honest ! ” 

So they “ let ’em slip.” Meg was once more 
visited by the fashionables of the camp, while still 
admired by the rougher element that in her honor 
had worn golden pins. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


SUCCESS.” 

W HAT magic success possesses! How it devel- 
ops remarkable qualities ! Making the world 
bow before abilities that without this wonderful aid 
would have been scoffed at — ignored. Let no man 
find glory in it, because of all things inexplicable it 
is the most. Hiding away from heroic effort, hon- 
esty, perseverance ; and then often lighting where 
least deserved, and most unworthily used. Yet how 
delightful it is ! How it gives the means of bring- 
ing happiness to those famishing for happiness ! 

How young, too, it makes one! How light of 
heart 1 At least so it made DePew and Meg. Her 
laugh rang out like sweetest music, her face shone 
with the light of her happy heart. For in their suc- 
cess she did not forget her friends. The woman with 
the children, who had left them at Rapid City, 
received a substantial remembrance, writing in return 
a letter saying that she had fared well, for as “ women 
were scarce in these parts, the old man had come to 
time.” 

DePew wrote to Jake offering him a position with 
good pay, and to old Ned the driver with an inclo- 
sure large enough to supply him in “ sperrits ” for a 
year. They remembered every one, while the “ Bull- 
finch ” was yielding magnificently, making them 
rich, and giving old Oliver more money than he 
knew what to do with. 

I don’t feel so bad about it as I used ter, Char- 
ley,” he said with a chuckle, showing him the will 
that, when he recovered, he found still securely tied 


“ success:' 


i6i 


between the pieces of tobacco, I don’t feel so bad 
over it ’cause it’ll be all yours and young Ebenezer 
Oliver DePew’s long arter I’m laid away.” 

The old man had told DePew how “ orful proud 
he ’ud be o’ a namesake.” And so DePew had given 
the promise, that when the heir came the name 
should be his. 

The young man made his appearance one fine 
morning, giving his father more pride than even his 
gold mine. And to his mother what only mothers 
ever feel. 

Of all the world, though, old Oliver most exulted 
in young Eben. Up and down the floor he would 
pace, holding in his arms that soft warm bundle, 
limping slightly when, to silence a squall, he would 
actually trot. 

There was nothing the old man would not do for 
this young one, who soon grew to know him, and 
coo to him in winning baby fashion. Months passed, 
the baby grew into a toddler, DePew became prom- 
inent in politics, and the mine, still yielding its 
golden harvest, was sold at high figures. 

It was Meg’s wish^ which learning, Oliver sec- 
onded so warmly that at last DePew, convinced, 
yielded. 

“ We hez a million good, an’ no derned bother. 
Better thet, than ter hev yer soul torn out by first 
this thing and t’other. Fer me, I hez took ter 
nussin’, an’ durn me ef it ain’t a heap nicer. Eh, 
Eben? It beats minin’ all holler ! ” 

Whereat Eben, saying “ Dit up, ole boss,” Oliver 
roared with delight, and then solemnly assured the 
boy’s mother and father, “ Thet this boy ’ll be presi- 
dent o’ the United States! ” 

When the mine was sold, DePew threw himself 
into politics and after a sharp fight and some fine 
speeches, was elected delegate to Congress. The 
papers spoke highly of his ability, men applauded 
his eloquence, his fame so spread, that it reached 


i 62 


CALAMITY JANE. 


his native city. Even great New York was proud 
to claim the successful western man as her son. 

And sitting in his office, Charles M. DePew 
flushed with pride as he read of his nephew’s good 
fortune. He had thought very often of this hand- 
some nephew, had looked among his mail expecting 
almost hoping, there would come an appeal for 
help. Then he would have his triumph. Then he 
would settle that nephew. But no appeal came. 
No letter, since the announcement of his marriage. 
No news at all, until now in a western extract, 
the New York journals gave a synopsis of the life 
of “ our brilliant orator and delegate, Charles 
DePew.” 

Charles M. DePew flushed with pride, and with 
pleasure too, when in the synopsis he read his own 
name, honorably mentioned. 

“ After all the young dog has some gratitude,” he 
thought, not imagining that the pleasant allusion to 
the “ distinguished uncle Charles M. DePew,” was 
given solely and only at the desire and suggestion 
of Meg, who, having been such a poor thing as a 
copyist, the great lawyer still despised. 

But Meg loving and tender, was potent with her 
husband. Dearer now than even on the day when 
for her sake DePew had cast aside his uncle’s in- 
heritance. 

It was to please Meg, that her husband had made 
every effort to find Calamity Jane. Letters were 
sent to every camp directed to this remarkable 
young woman. But nothing was heard from her, 
nothing could be learned of her. 

Madame Mustache was interviewed, but could 
give no information. 

“ I nevair haive seen hair, since ze night she play 
haire. Pairhaps she dead, pairhaps she run avay ! ” 
with a shrug of indifference. “ Perhaps we will hear 
from her after many days, as this letter came from 
Jake,” said DePew to his wife, holding up the letter 


“ success:* 163 

he had just received. It was mailed from one of the 
United States frontier garrisons. 

“ I have joined the army/' it ran, “ and am now regu- 
larly commissioned to kill the redskins. It has be- 
come a mania with me. If ever I outgrow it, I will 
visit you and Mrs. DePew, who are as present to my 
thoughts and dear to my remembrance, as if it were 
but yesterday that your kindness went out to a 
lonely man." Thus Jake wrote, and with this 
DePew had to be satisfied, though the scholarly 
hand and excellent wording of Jake’s letter, made 
him more than ever desire his comradeship. 

But he was too full of business and happiness to 
have time for regrets, for the successful man has 
many pleasures crowded upon him, many friends 
seeking him. 

“ It puzzles me though," he would say to Meg, 
with whom long ago he had exchanged the experi- 
ences of those eventful days, when she was the un- 
conscious toast of Deadwood and he was chasing 
after the officer — ‘‘ it puzzles me that I can not find 
or hear'any thing of that pretty boy. Why, Meg, if 
it had not been for the loan of his horse, we might 
now be poverty stricken, old Oliver convicted of an 
attempt at wholesale murder, and all of us misera- 
ble. Talk of your Calamity Jane, who, love, much 
as I Vv'ish to think otherwise, is a most disreputable 
woman ! She only played upon your sympathy, and 
kissed you. Tm not so sure I liked her kissing you, 
while this pretty little fellow was the real cause of 
all our good luck. Yet I can hear nothing of him. 
I have kept that advertisement in the paper since 
our Eben was born. But it seems to be useless." 

It did seem useless, as well as the ride to Rapid 
City, where DePew had hoped to obtain some infor- 
mation from the saloon keeper. 

I’ve nothin’ to tell yer, sir. Charley’s not dead ; 
I’m quite sure of that, and that’s all I am sure of," 
the man said. 


164 


CALAMITY JANE. 


For himself, when DePew desired in some way to 
reward him for the opportune aid which had saved 
his life, the man laughed. 

“ Sometimes it is kinder nice to help a man,” be 
said. “ I don’t care for any reward, sir, but if I do 
want help I’ll call on you.” 

And so things remained. Deadwood advancing 
into a regular prosperous life, gave impetus to the 
territory. Ranches grew up about her, industries 
were established ; all flourished, even the road agents, 
who still continued their daring robberies. 

The name of the ringleader was generally known 
to be “ Charley,” but when Meg suggested that this 
“ Charley ” might be DePew’s pretty boy of the 
desert, her husband laughed. 

“ Why, my girl, that was a child. At the utmost, 
he could not have been nineteen. He was no taller 
than you ; I doubt if quite so tall. Oh, no, that boy 
was no criminal. He was. I’ve no doubt, some run- 
away student.” 

But even Meg’s reminder of the road agent who 
had so politely rescued her could not induce her hus- 
band to associate the two. 

“ Wait,” he said, “ until we are east. I will, in the 
eastern journals, republish my advertisement, and we 
shall see this young fellow turn up, out of a country 
town. Then we can repay him his own, with inter- 
est.” 

The time for going east drew near, when DePew 
would start for Washington to represent the Terri- 
tory of Dakota. He intended to do his best for her, 
to gain as much as possible, even her admission as a 
state, which now was earnestly desired and consid- 
erably agitated. 

Prior to leaving his chosen home, he was acquaint- 
ing himself with her other than mineral wealth; was 
traveling througlr her great valleys and visiting her 
magnificent farms ; while Meg, with young Eben 
^nd old Oliver, awaited the head of their family, in 


^'success:' 165 

the pretty house into which their tiny one had blos- 
somed. 

They were counting the days for DePew’s return, 
when the stage from Cheyenne brought the news of 
an attack of road agents that not only had been 
repulsed, but during which, it was currently believed, 
the leader had been wounded, perhaps killed. 

“ I swore to do it, and I did it,” said the express 
messenger, who appeared to wear the laurels. It 
war thet feller wi’ the clipped ear,” said Oliver, when 
giving Meg an account of the excitement over the 
defeat of the road agents. 

He was still talking, the baby climbing over him, 
when their- Chinese servant entered with a slip of 
paper, which he handed Meg. It had but one writ- 
ten line, but that turned Meg very pale, and made 
her say : 

“ I must start at once. Mr. Oliver, will you go 
for the buckboard, and take care of baby while I am 
away ? 

“ Sure I will. Don’t-ee ! don’t-ee ! ” he said, try- 
ing to comfort her, until after another beseeching — 

“ Pray hurry the buckboard,” he went, and hurried 
it to such purpose that Meg had not yet taken leave 
of her baby when he drove up to the door. With a 
kiss and whispered blessing, she put the child in 
Oliver’s arms and handed him the slip of paper as 
she took her seat in the low buckboard, that, with 
its nice pair of ponies, was her especial property. 

She had taken many drives in it, but never as 
now, with tearful eyes and trembling hands. It was 
well the ponies were gentle and easily guided, or 
they might not have trotted along so quietly, while 
old Oliver looked after their driver wondering; 

“ Ef I done right to let her go alone.” 

The young man in his arms soon settled the mat- 
ter for him, keeping him so busy that he had barely 
a chance to read the line which Meg had given him. 


i66 


CALAMITY JANE. 


“So she’s foun’ ! Foun’ at last, poor thing,” he 
said, when he held up the bit of paper out of Eben’s 
reach, on which in pencil were scrawled the words: 
“ I am dying. In Oliver’s old cabin ! ! 

“Calamity Jane.” 


CHAPTER XVII. 


“ IT IS BETTER SO.” 

U P the gulch Meg urged the horses, that, used to 
her gentle driving, raust have marveled at her 
impatience. 

“ On, on,” she cried, not seeing through her tears 
the workmen who stared at her, wondering what she 
was doing up the gulch at that hour alone. For the 
night was falling, the stars were shining out, and 
now a rich man’s wife, Mrs. DePew’s movements 
were of some interest. 

She was thinking of another night over a year ago, 
when she had hurried to attend another who had 
been wounded. 

Would this one live too ? She prayed it. And as 
she remembered the slight, strong figure, full of life, 
she hoped it. But hope failed, when, where the road 
ended in the trail, a man met her. A stranger, who 
had evidently been awaiting her. “ Hurry, or you’ll 
be too late,” he said, taking the reins from her hands. 

She ran up the trail to the cabin, at whose door 
stood a bay horse so covered with foam that in the 
soft twilight he looked like one of the Indian ponies 
called “pinto.” 

He stood at the open door, not moving until a 
voice from the cabin called: 

“ Back, Desmond ! ” 

It was a faint voice, but it was the voice of Calam- 
ity Jane, and made Meg’s heart thrill. 

“Jane!” She sprang in, passing the horse who 
seemed to wish to enter with her. “Jane 1” 

She called again, starting back, when on the floor 


i68 


CALAMITY JANE. 


she saw, not the black-haired, dark-skinned Jane, but 
a curly-headed boy, whose face against the blue 
blanket on which he lay, was white as marble. 

“ O Meg ! ” He held his arms to her, “ I am Jane, 
as you call me, Calamity, as I named myself. If you 
doubt it, look there. On the saddle you will find 
the wig and dye ; even the skirts that gave me back 
my sex, when I fancied to change from the boy I 
pleased to be. Ha! ha 1 Her laugh ended with a 
swoon, and the curly head fell back. 

Was he dead ! Meg shuddered and came forward 
to help him. She could not feel that this was her 
Jane. This, the woman on whose breast she had 
wept — whose arms had upheld her. 

But when the blue eyes opened and looked full at 
her with that tenderness which had so affected her, 
when the faint voice whispered, “ Hold me in your 
arms thus, Meg, and kiss me ; the dying can not in- 
jure,” somehow the tenderness came back to her 
which this strange creature had from the first ex- 
cited. 

As she moved to look into Meg’s face, the unbut- 
toned jacket showed her bloody shirt. 

“ Let me see to your wounds,” Meg begged. 
“ Mr. Oliver’s life was saved. Yours may be. Let 
me see to them.” 

“ No, no,” said Calamity ; “ it is better so,” and 
then a thought came to her. “ Look 1 ” she herself 
pulled open the linen, and baring a woman’s beauti- 
ful body, said as she showed the gaping side : “ Unto 
death 1 Don’t you see ? Unto death ! ” 

She rested a moment, her hands falling down as 
she whispered, “ Cover me. Keep the secret of my 
sex. It — it — ” with a faint shadow of her wild hu- 
mor, “ was a caprice of mine to disown it.” 

Meg gently covered her, while her own tears fell 
in pity. There was stillness in the cabin, the lan- 
tern on the wooden table throwing its light upon the 
pretty face resting on Meg’s arm. 


'' n\ IS BETTER SO. 


169 


Presently Calamity opened her eyes. “ I was 
dreaming/' she said. “ Dreaming that I grew well 
and shared your home ! ” 

“ I wish you could/’ was Meg’s fervent answer, 

“ Sweetsoul,” the other murmured, “ Sweetsoul ! ” 

She dozed again. Starting from it in excitement, 
“You ask no question!” she said. “Hold upon 
your breast a disguised woman, a road agent, a faro- 
player, a criminal) and yet ask no questions ! ” She 
laughed, and the laughter brought back pain. But 
yet she talked on, Meg catching the low words : 
“ Faith, Hope, and Charity. The greatest of these. 
Charity 1 ” 

Somehow this Bible phrase brought back to pious 
Meg a religious obligation. 

“ Jane,” she said, “ let me send for a priest. There 
is a man outside ! ” 

“ Send him 1 They will send him to the peniten- 
tiary. Quick! Call him here! He must be off! 
He risks his life ! I — ha ! ha ! I am past their 
hurting.” 

The man must have been near, for as Calamity 
spoke he came in the room. 

“Charley! Charley!” he sobbed. “What do I 
care. If you must die. I’d as leave be taken.” He 
held Charley’s hand in his as one man holds another’s. 
“ Oh, ma’am, if he’d not been so willful, he might 
have been saved. But when he was wounded and in 
my arms, I dragged him off, he made me mount Des- 
mond and bring him here to see you ; and now he’s 
bled to death.” 

“ Pshaw, man,” said Calamity, “ death must come. 
I’d rather have it so, with a friend like you beside 
me, and a lady to pray over me, than to drag out 
my days in prison, or in tedious life. Ah! but we 
lived bravely. What fun we’ve had together, boy. 
It was jolly while it lasted.” 

Speaking, Calamity had raised herself, leaning 
against Meg’s shoulder. She grew stronger, or 


170 


CALAMITY JANE. 


seemed thus to grow, as she tried to rouse the de- 
spondent man. Failing in this she cried out, “ Oh 
save yourself. I want to die in peace, and can not 
unless I know you are safe. Stir up, old fellow. 
Mount Desmond and fly.’' 

Still the man knelt at her side, sobbing over the 
hand he held. 

“ Meg.” Calamity turned her eyes upon her. 

“ Once a boy named Charley helped your husband 
when he needed help. If he will return that favor, 
let him send money to James Smythe, Ontario?^. 
Canada.” 

“ It shall be done. Sufficient to keep him for 
life,” Meg answered solemnly. 

“There, James. Do you hear. Quick, go! If 
you love me, go. You have enough to take you 
there. Lead an honest life there, James. It is te- 
dious, but safer. Go, if you would have me die in 
peace.” 

They gripped hands, parted, and then at the door 
with a sob the man ran back. 

“Charley, Charley, must I go?” 

And as Calamity faintly whispered, “ Go, if you ' 
love me, and take care of Desmond,” the man 
gripped her hands again, kissed her cheek, and whis- 
pering to Meg: 

“ Ma’am, stay with him. He’s dearer than my 
life. The only pard I could ever trust,” broke sob- 
bing from the room. 

There was a struggle at the door, for the horse 
could not be forced away. But after Calamity’s faint 
“ Go, I say,” he let himself be mounted, and in the 
stillness there came back the sound of his flying 
hoofs. Fainter and fainter the sounds came and 
then ceased. Looking at Calamity, Meg saw two 
tears rolling down her cheeks. 

“Ah,” she moaned, “ I loved that horse and he 
loved me. If there is eternity for me why not for 
him, who has man’s noblest parts ? ” 


“/r IS BETTER so: 


I7I 

‘‘Eternity! O Calamity,” Meg implored, “pre- 
pare for it. Repent your sins.” 

“ My sins ! ” Calamity faintly laughed, then 
moaned, then rested silent, and then again opening 
her eyes, said : “ Hold me on your breast, I will re- 
pent what sins I can. I can not repent stage rob- 
bing, for I robbed no one who seemed poor. Then 
I was better than speculators. It seemed to me I 
was but equalizing matters. No, I took from the 
rich only, and always gave to the poor. I kept none 
of it. I own nothing but that horse. Ah, but the 
excitement. It was fine, Meg, fine.” Dying, as she 
was, the memory of it brightened her face and awak- 
ened her faint laugh, which brought back her pain. 

She had longer suffering this time and more severe, 
for the sweat broke out around her mouth. Softly 
Meg wiped it away, fervently she prayed for her who 
would not pray for herself. And presently, still 
resting in her arms. Calamity fell asleep. 

The night passed, dawn came, the sun shining in 
the cabin awakened the dying girl. “ It is near the 
end,” she whispered. “ Oh 1 Meg I have been much 
injured. It was despair that drove me to make a 
jest of my womanhood. Now, dying, I yet feel 
the bitterness of my wrong. But I forgave my 
wronger. You asked me to pray, to prepare for 
eternity. I will I O God, I pray to be forgiven 
as I have forgiven.” She clasped her hands, her 
eyes looked out upon the glowing sky of morning 
and gradually over them came the film of death. 
Whatever her injuries, whatever her wrongs, she. 
carried them with her into the silence of that last 
sleep. 

Meg was still prayingbesideher when her husband 
came to the door. 

“ Meg I love ! ” he softly called her, starting as she 
moved aside, and he looked down on the dead face 
of the boy who had once aided him. 

“ Charley dead ! ” he exclaimed. 


172 CALAMITY JANE. 

Then in the presence of that still form Meg told 
him what she knew, and his words were the same 
that Calamity had spoken : 

It is better so ! ” 

They buried her quietly ; no one but themselves 

knowing that in the grave marked “ Jane , Dec. 

1st, 1878,” lay the road agent Charley, whose feats 
had been the wonder of the boldest. 

But they did not forget her, Meg besieging heaven 
with prayers for her soul, and DePew wondering 
what circumstances could have led so bright and 
spirited a creature into such a life. Even in Wash- 
ington’s business and gayety they remembered her, 
where their wealth made them welcome. Where it 
even made the fashionables of that great center 
amiably laugh over the Millionaire Oliver’s eccen- 
tricity. This wealth might have obtained him a 
pretty young wife, for plenty of money finds out 
many a willing bride, but Oliver held to young Eben, 

“ He’s enough for me,” he said. 

It was a wonderful charm, wealth. It actually 
made Charles M. DePew not only visit Washington 
and call on his nephew’s wife, but now that they 
needed nothing, induced hirn to entertain them in 
New York. 

“ I told you long ago, Meg, he had no feeling. 
That pride and obstinacy were his strong points,” 
DePew said to his wife, while to please her he made 1 
ready for the grand dinner his uncle was giving in I 
their honor. “ Even if this be true, dear,” answered 
Meg, “ let us be in peace with all.” 

And then as he kissed her, called her the “ pret- ' 
tiest girl in town,” she coaxed : 

“And, love, you will make yourself pleasant to your 
uncle. You will invite him to visit us in Deadwood. 
We must overlook defects and be kindly to all. Is 
it not better so ? ” 


THE END 



‘ V ■ 


1 , 



t 










« . 












It i8 undoubtedly 
true tbat more cbll- 
dren have been suc- 
cessfully reared by the 
use of Ridge’s Food 
than by the use of all 
the other foods com- 
bined. 

Do not experiment 
with your child, but 
take the food that has 
stood the test of time. 


PUBLIC OPINION 

Justifies the claim that Rid- 
ge’s Food is the best daily 
diet for children. It makes 
bone, muscle, nerve tissue, 
and in every way builds up 
the system of the growing 
child. 


These are Solid Facts: 


BnooKFiELD, Mass., Feb. 12, 1884. 

My little granddaughter, now about 
ten months old, weighed at birth but 

THREE POUNDS. 

Neither doctor n^r, nurse had any ex- 
pectation of her living to be a month 
old. She was fed on cow’s milk about 
a month, and the gain was hardly per- 
ceptible. Then, by the advice of the 
physician,she was fed on Ridge’s Food, 
prepared according to directions, and 
ained five ounces the first week. She 
as used no other food since, and now 
we are proud to tell you she is as hearty 
and as fine a child of her age as can be 
seen anywhere. 

Yours truly, 

H. H. Phetteplace. 


Boston, Mass., July 2, 1883. 

Nine years ago, a puny infant niece 
of mine was taken from the arms of its 
consumptive mother to be cared for 
temporarily in my family. My wife put 
it immediately upon a diet of Ridge’s 
Food exclusively. The healthful 
growth of the child was very remark- 
able. At the end of three months, 
when returned to its home, it had be- 
come such a plump, rosy-cheeked child 
as to be hardly recognizable even to its 
mother. The child has ever since en- 
joyed perfect health. I have known 
of several other cases of the use of 
Ridge’s Food among my neighbors and 
friends and always with the same satis- 
factory results. 

Dan’l L. Milliken. 


Send to ’Woolrich. & Co., Palmer, Mass., for pamphlet, entitled, “Healthful 
Hints,” sent FREE to any address. Mention 


FOR SUMMER READING. 


THE COMMON CHORD. 

A Story of the Ninth Ward. By Henry R. Elliot, Author of “ The 
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